Tell (15 page)

“Why can't I be great?” Sandra shifted on the rocks. “You see, you're making it about boys again.”

“Because, little one, you're meant for greatness in other ways. There are plans already in store for you and your other brothers.” Zobeldach summoned the book again. “Do you want to read from it now?”

She nodded and accepted the big tome. “What shall I read?”

“Clever girl.” He cupped the back of her head. “The words are big. Can you manage them all?”

She smiled. “I'm very smart. Ma says so.”

“Then read this part here.” He tapped a section. “In a nice, clear voice.”

“It will make Harlowe grow up to be strong and good?” She met Zobeldach's gaze. “You promise?”

“Of course.” His angelic smile hid the lie.

Above them, clouds gathered, blocking out the moon and stars. Only a glowing gas flame in a streetlight nearby gave them light.

Sandra took a deep breath. “‘My enemy's name spoken, his life will be a token, a gift to the soul, banished long ago, new birth for his name awoken.'” She beamed. “It's a poem.”

Zobeldach curled his fingers around the book. His violet gaze went wild and his lips curled into a feral smile. “What's his name, sweetling? Your dear little brother's name?”

“I told you. It's Harlowe Heckmaster.”

Lightning crashed into the street. A swirl of dust rose and twisted around them. Zobeldach raised his arms and laughed.

Sandra shrieked and fell off the rocks. The book fell down beside her. “What happened? I'm scared.”

The demon's handsome form melted away, leaving him small and withered. Two heads grew from his neck. One cackled while the other spoke. “Your brother is ours now, little girl. A weapon to unleash Hell on earth. If you speak his name, he'll be ripped apart as Astaroth's power is reborn.”

She pressed her back into the fountain. “W-why?”

“Astaroth will rise.” Both heads laughed and the thing danced around the fountain. “Do you feel him on the air?”

Tears stained her small face and she trembled as she hefted the book onto her lap. “I won't let anyone hurt him. He's my brother.”

“You're Seneca's daughter to the marrow, aren't you?” Zobeldach reached a clawed hand toward her.

Sandra jerked back. “You can't hurt me.”

“No?”

She reached into her nightdress, then pulled out a silver St. Anthony pendant on a ribbon. The disk, the size of a double eagle coin, flashed. “You can't hurt me.” She threw the pendant at him and struck him across the left head.

The creature squealed and clawed at its damaged skin. It snarled at her, then ran for the darkness as the clouds rolled away from the moon.

Sandra scrambled to get the medal again and clutched it in one hand while holding the book in the other. “Oh no. Oh no. He's a baby.”

She rocked back and forth for a moment. “They can't say his name.” Her voice came out in a squeak. She looped the ribbon around her neck again. She clutched the book to her chest, seeming uncertain about what to do with it.

Above her, the angel cast its benevolent smile.

“Hide it. I have to get rid of it.” She rose and held the book out as though it would bite her.

“Sandra!” Seneca's voice echoed off the buildings. “Where are you?”

She dropped the book behind a bush then turned toward her father's voice. She didn't say a word as he scooped her up and hugged her close.

“What are you doing out here?” His voice was rough with worry.

“D-demon. He got me out of bed and he said some funny words. He said we can't ever say Harl—the baby's name again. He made a bad spell happen.”

Seneca set her down. “What do you mean?”

“He read from a book. A poem. It was…” She shrugged. “I don't remember it all, but he said if we say the baby's name then a demon will come out of him.”

He grabbed Sandra's hand. “Come on. We must get home. We can't let your mother or the boys say his name.”

The window turned gray again and the last words of the memory faded. Sylvie gripped Tell's knee. He closed his eyes and drained the tumbler of scotch.

“What did she do with the book?”

Seneca stared at the liquor in his glass. “I never found it. I didn't even learn of her part in this until years later. Perhaps she intentionally forgot where she hid the book.
Liber Animae Perit,
it's called. Copies are extremely rare, almost nonexistent, at least in the form we'd need to remove the curse. Some are improperly translated. Some have lost pages. Despite my best efforts, I can't get my hands on the one we need.”

Tell squeezed the glass in his hand so hard, it shattered, then tinkled to the floor. “How could she not know that thing was a demon? That it intended to ruin my life?”

“She was a child, Tell.” She leaned across the chair and took his bleeding hand. “That thing tricked her. It made her think she was helping you. That's what demons do best.”

Tell stood. “What was the point of showing us that if it can't help?”

Seneca set his glass aside. “Do you think she didn't live the remainder of her short life with regrets? Zobeldach stole her trusting nature away. Your sister loathed herself for allowing that to happen.”

“Then why not give you the book?” Tell's hand dripped blood as he crossed the room. “She had to know someday someone would find out my name and use it.”

“I can't speak for her, son. Your sister's reasons remain a secret.” Seneca remained calm, even as Tell stood in his face. “I wish I could go back to that day and wait for Zobeldach. He wouldn't like what he found in Sandra's place. Unfortunately, the past is well behind us.”

“The book is still in Berner.” Sylvie met Tell's gaze. “She never left the town, did she?”

Tell's dark expression remained fixed. “She might have left it there, but by now it's rotted because of the moisture or stolen by some other lunatic demon. She was too young to hide it in a good spot.”

“You don't know that. She was small—she wouldn't want anyone noticing her lugging a giant book around. She'd have looked for an easy hiding place.”

“I searched the area myself when I learned what had happened there, Sylvie. It's a good idea, but there's nowhere to hide a book.” Seneca frowned. “Someday I may be able to find another copy. Until then, we'll have to protect Tell the best we can.”

“My dream come true, a life in the Gray Lands.” Tell shook his head. “I need some time to think.”

“Dochi, please take Tell and Sylvie to their room.” Seneca slid off the desk. “Forgive me for upsetting you.”

Tell's shoulders slumped. “I never knew exactly what to imagine when I thought about how it happened. Knowing is good and bad. I'm sorry I yelled. It's a lot to take in.”

Sylvie's heart ached for him. “I'm tired too. Let's settle in.”

He slipped his non-bloodied hand around her waist. “I'm sorry for involving you in this.”

“I love you, curse or not. This doesn't change anything.”

“What if I destroy everything and everyone you've ever loved?” He lowered his gaze. “Maybe you ought to go home and stay with your sister. Do normal things for as long as you can. This ain't fair to you.”

“We agreed on for better or worse, remember?” She pressed her lips to his. “We won't have to stay here forever. I'm certain of that.”

“You're right. I overreacted. Dochi, care to show us the way?”

“Dochi will help. Follow him.” The imp bounced on his toes and skipped to the door. “We are so honored to have important guests.”

They walked behind the scampering creature and Sylvie held tight to Tell's arm. Although Tell seemed more relaxed, the tension remained in his posture. The memories Seneca had showed them had affected him more deeply than he wanted to admit. If they didn't find a way to remove the name curse, she feared the pressure of waiting would destroy him.

Chapter Fifteen

Tell unfastened the buttons at the front of Sylvie's blouse, then helped remove her arm from the sleeve. “Let me fetch your dressing gown. You should probably try to get some rest.”

Dark bruises stretched over her forearm where the demon had grasped her. She held it close to her body, pressed against the lacy side of her corset.

She sank on top of the patchwork quilt covering the bed in their room. “I'm not too tired. I thought perhaps you needed some time to gather your thoughts after what we saw. It rattled you.”

“A little.” He tucked his hands into his pockets. They trembled a combination of emotion—anger, fear, hopelessness. He'd wasted years wondering what possessed Sandra to do something so reckless. It wasn't easy holding a grudge against a child who'd been tricked. There was no one to blame except Astaroth. “You heard my father. He's a demon of powerful resources and he can't get his hands on the
Liber Animae Perit.
What's the point of worrying about it?”

“Everyone has looked for it, but I still believe it's there. She couldn't have hidden it anywhere else. You said yourself she told you about it in a dream.” Pretty brown curls dripped over Sylvie's shoulder. She tucked her legs beneath her and leaned on the bedpost. “Where were some of her favorite places in town?”

He shrugged. “The fountain is most obvious, but not a very good place to leave a book. Church? The one that's falling in that everyone complains about? We attended when Ma was alive. It's still not a place I think Sandra would have gone to hide something.”

“Was there ever a library in Berner?”

“Not for public use. Sometimes folks would leave books for one another at the mercantile. She'd never have put it there.” He dropped onto the bed beside her. “It's no use. It's gone.”

Sylvie's mouth flattened into a straight line. She stared at the far wall and her brow furrowed.

“Don't worry about it so much, Sylv. If it was meant to be, this would have been solved years ago. Maybe she dropped it behind that bush and someone else found it. Demon or even human.” A sense of loss tugged at him. If only he had a way to go back in time and retrieve the book himself. “She tried to make up for it after that. Sandra spoiled me rotten. She picked my nickname. They called me
the baby
until I was four years old. I guess they got used to it. It wasn't until I was a little over three that Sandra realized I knew things without having to ask. It's not mind reading…I can just tell. It stuck, thank God.”

Sylvie laughed. “You're a bit big to call Baby.”

“Do me a favor and don't remind my brothers. They'd have too much fun remembering that part of our childhood.”

“Consider it our secret.” She flexed the fingers of her right hand, then her wrist. “I need to do some sewing.”

“Eban said—”

“I know, but he doesn't realize how important this is. You should.” She lowered her gaze. “Let me do this for them. If nothing comes of it, then good, but I need to be prepared for the worst.”

Her soft words cut him. “Yeah, I understand.”

“Tell.” She leaned forward and took his hand in her left one. “I'm afraid of what the future holds. I wish we could blink and it would be over, that things would be normal, but that's not the case.”

“Believe me, I know.” He pulled his hand free of hers. “Go ahead. Sew a million coats if you want. I'd be stupid to try and stop you.”

“What is it about this place that makes you act so mean? The second anyone mentions the Gray Lands, you turn into a porcupine.” She rose and put her right hand on her hip, still holding the left close.

“You have coats to sew,” he grumbled.

“
Tell.
”

“I didn't marry your sister. Please stop acting like her.” He dropped his head into his hands and rubbed his forehead. “It's gray here. Makes everything seem small and crowded. There's the demon presence. It's everywhere and I want to kill them all before they get the chance to kill me. It's overwhelming.”

“The story Zobeldach told Sandra—is it true?”

“I don't know. I know some of the myth, some of the history and the whys of demonship, but that story could go either way. Does it matter?”

“Maybe.” She caressed the top of his head. “Astaroth has been trying to kill your family for years. What about the others?”

“They could be anywhere doing anything as long as it's getting them souls. You think they've set their sights on America and its territories alone? Maybe they got tired of Astaroth running the show here and skipped off to Europe.” Tell suppressed a shiver.

She rolled her eyes. “I'm sure they have plenty of demon lords there too. Do you think El is really God?”

“Does it matter what I think? We got more than we bargained for with the angel Eban summoned last time Astaroth showed up. Whether it was help from El or God or John Smith down the road, it doesn't matter.”

“Azazel said we shouldn't look for help from the angels again, didn't he?” She toyed with his hair.

Shivers of pleasure rolled down his spine, releasing the tension crowded there. “I don't wanna think about any of that right now.”

“What's on your mind?”

The smile she gave him made his heart race and his rod twitch. “Things about as far away from demons as you can get.”

The tops of her breasts swelled over the corset and bounced pleasantly with each breath she took. Although physically she appeared all right, he didn't want to hurt her.

Her smile turned wicked. Sylvie batted her lashes. “Oh, I think I understand. Something a little farther north than Hell and currently residing in your trousers.”

“Yeah, but—”

She pressed her finger to his lips. “To hear everyone else tell it, we're gonna die tomorrow in some big demon uprising or because you lost control or…who knows what the latest worry is. Each day we survive is something to celebrate. We shouldn't waste it.”

“Your shoulder,” he muttered around her finger.

“I wasn't suggesting any acrobatics. Just a little sheet-rumpling lovemaking.” She removed her finger, then popped the hooks on the front of her corset.

Tell's mouth watered as her breasts sprang free. Taut nipples strained against her soft pink areolas. She pulled the ribbon holding up her petticoat. The cloth fell to the floor with a whisper. Short, silky underwear trimmed in lace separated her soft mound from his fingers. With a quick shimmy, her underwear dropped too.

“Is there a reason you're still wearing clothes, Mr. Heckmaster?” Her brown eyes sparkled behind her lenses.

He grabbed her around the waist and swung her toward the bed. He slowed her descent onto the mattress just before she hit it. “That's Deputy Heckmaster, pretty lady.”

“I like my lawmen naked.” She pushed his right suspender from his shoulder. “Very naked.”

“Easily remedied.” He pushed buttons through holes and stripped his shirt away. His trousers hit the floor in a tangled heap over his boots. He knelt between her legs and stroked his hands up her thighs. “Last night, I thought I might lose you. This calm came over me, so deadly. I wanted to kill him, but I wanted him to suffer as no other creature ever had.”

“Shh, all that's over now.” Her eyebrows drew together and her mouth pouted. “It's just us here. I want to keep it that way.”

“There's nothing I wouldn't do for you, Sylvie.” He braced himself on his arms above her. “Kill, steal, or hide in a godforsaken gray place. I've never loved anyone or anything as much as I love you.”

She wrapped her legs loosely around his hips. “I'd do anything to keep you safe. Kill, steal, force you into a godforsaken gray hellhole. Anything to keep you by my side until we're old and wrinkled and our children have children. I need you in every possible way. I love my sister, I'm thankful she did everything she could to protect me, but the love I have for her isn't a fraction of what I feel for you.”

Tell pressed his lips to her hot mouth, pushed his tongue between her teeth and his pelvis against hers. Fierce love rolled over him. Beautiful, smart, sassy Sylvie's declaration snuffed the angry fire spark that had smoldered in his chest since their arrival.

She kissed him back, her tongue caressing his, coaxing him farther into her mouth. Raw desire flushed through him. He drew back enough to push his tip into her entrance, then plunge inside her. Sylvie's legs tightened around him, holding him like a vise. She bucked against him and his control slipped. Driven by his need to bury himself completely inside her, he pushed to his root and ground against her.

Her good hand wound into the hair at the base of his neck, pulling and plucking, a combination of sweet pleasure and pain. Her name formed on his lips, but left in a smothered groan instead of a loud cry.

Glasses askew, Sylvie beamed at him. He spilled into her the moment her mouth went from a smooth curve to a soft O. Her face contorted into a look of pleasure so intense, he almost had to look away from her. He closed his eyes as the warm wave of satisfaction crashed over him.

Sorrow fell the moment he drew away from her. In a few hours when they untangled themselves, the enjoyment and contentment would be a memory. The threats looming over their heads would return with the force of a tidal wave.

Sylvie pressed her fingers between his eyebrows. “That's an awfully big frown for a man who seemed to be having the time of his life a minute ago.”

“Will you remember this if everything goes south? If Wystan and Eban have to…” He drew his finger across his throat. “Will you be able to recall the good times?”

“Shut up.” Her voice came out low and angry. “What we did was good. It was beautiful and I'm not having you take the moment from me. Not like this.” She moved as though she planned to leave the bed.

He wrapped his arms around her. “Don't go.”

Her face crumpled as she returned the embrace. He'd hurt her, stolen the joy just like she said.

“I'm sorry, Sylvie. Me and my big mouth. Forget I said anything. Being with you is what makes my world go 'round.”

“I know,” she whispered. “So don't talk like that anymore.”

“Done.” But the worry wouldn't be banished so easily. Tell stroked her hair while they lay together. After a few minutes, she relaxed and fell asleep.

The fire she'd put out snapped back to life. The stinging pulse of the ember flared like someone had blown on it.

He closed his eyes. Would it ever really be extinguished?

* * * * *

Sylvie sewed despite her raw and aching hands. After two days in the Gray Lands, time started blurring. Night and day didn't differ by sun and moon. Tell was right—things were always gray here. She had trouble distinguishing how long she'd been at the sewing machine. Beryl's coat had gone much faster than the rest because Seneca delivered the promised help. A small demon called Carmeela offered her services. Using sharp appendages like lobster claws, she cut away at the dreadnaught with little trouble. Left out in the open in Seneca's palace, Sylvie and her sewing caught the attention of many demons. They marveled at the ugliness of the cloth, and its usefulness when she demonstrated what it could tolerate. Impenetrable, flame resistant, nearly untearable, it withstood dozens of tests.

Tell sat nearby, sometimes studying his father's texts, pulled out by Nebo, sometimes with his gaze a million miles away and usually troubled. The man she'd fallen in love with, so easygoing and seemingly carefree, had vanished, replaced by one burdened with his heritage and fearful of his future.

Dochi, ever cheerful, volunteered to deliver the coats to her family. When he stacked the folded garments and popped out of the Gray Lands, Sylvie leaned on Tell.

“We'll see them soon,” Tell whispered, pressing his lips to her hair. “Just a matter of time before we're safe.”

“I know. I hope Meacham is happy.”

“Me too. Rotten little beast.” Tell stroked her shoulder. “If trouble goes looking for our family, I think it'll get more than it bargains for with your magic coats.”

“From your lips to demon-lord ears. And anyone else who might be listening and waiting for the day Astaroth's reign truly ends.” Her body seemed to weigh a ton and her hands were beyond unsightly. “You think Nebo could whip up some ancient remedy to combat exhaustion? I feel like I need to sleep for a week.”

Tell pulled her closer, then lifted her into his arms. “You take all the time you need to recover. You just made a Herculean effort to save everyone.”

She rested her head against his shoulder. “Let's hope it's enough.”

“I'm sorry I complained about it. Some days my head's so full of hatred for what I am, I can't see past it.” He nuzzled her hair as he carried her to their rooms. “I love you, Sylv. More than anything.”

“I know. The feeling is mutual. My cup runneth over.” Her eyelids drooped. “Let me sleep a while, then we'll go exploring or…” She yawned. “Something.”

“Anything you want, Princess.”

He laid her on the bed on top of the buttery-soft silk comforter. She sank into the feather mattress and curled on her side.

“Sleep tight. I'll be here when you wake up.” Tell's voice drifted to her through a haze.

She meant to raise her head for a kiss, but snuggled deeper into the mattress instead.

* * * * *

Sobbing woke her. Her mind swirled, fogged by cloudy dreams.

Tell's upset.

She licked her lips. “Tell?”

“Quiet.” His hand sliced through the air.

Sylvie sat up, stung by his sharpness.

Dochi crouched at Tell's feet, his paws curled into Tell's trouser leg. “For-forgive me, Master. Dochi tried to help. D-d-destruction. Demons came, they hurt the people. The town is f-f-falling.” When the little imp lifted his face, one eye was bright red and a nasty cut split the skin beside his muzzle.