Tell (2 page)

Chapter Two

For the third time in half an hour, Sylvie dropped a spool of peacock-blue thread. She leaned down then scooped it off the floor. It was Tell's fault she couldn't concentrate.

He didn't have a lick of sense. He'd walked away from Eban's clinic not twenty-four hours after surgery. Not twenty-four hours after he'd almost
died
.

She placed the spool beside the bodice she'd added maybe three stitches to, then pushed her chair back from the table. Worrying about him was going to kill her. Demon blood or not, nobody recovered overnight from the kinds of injuries he'd sustained. Nobody but Tell would be fool enough to get out of bed. She had half a mind to leave her shop, hunt him down and drag him back to Eban's. If she had to, she'd sit on his chest until he made a complete recovery. Not his chest, perhaps, since that was where the worst of the damage had been, but she'd find some way to make him stay there.

The bell over the door rang and stopped her plot to kidnap Tell.

Jeffrey Spinner beamed at her with all the radiance of two-dozen candles. “Good morning, Sylvie. Ladies.”

Behind her, the women she employed in the dress shop called out greetings.

Her stomach sank. She'd promised Tell she'd break off her courtship with Jeffrey, but it had been a spur-of-the-moment decision to get Tell on the back of a horse. She hadn't given Jeffrey another thought because she was too busy mentally breaking Tell's bones so he would stay where Eban put him.

“You all right, Sylvie? You look distressed.” Jeffrey's brow creased.

“Fine, just fine.” She waved away his concern and pasted on a smile. “I'd forgotten something I planned to do. No matter now. It's so nice that you came by.”
I'm going to break your heart.

“It's nearly lunchtime. I thought you might like to visit Lois's with me.”

Jeffrey wasn't as tall as Tell nor did he have the lean, honed look to him that hunting demons had given Tell over the years. Jeffrey's face was round, his dark blond hair was side-swept with pomade that reeked of cologne, and he wore a suit fitted to his frame, not the casual, workaday attire Tell preferred.

“You know, I think I'd rather take a walk and stretch my legs. I've been sitting far too long.” She rose. “Beautiful weather we're having, so it's the perfect day to be out.”

Jeffrey's frown deepened. “I only have a short time before I must return to the bank.”

“We won't dally. Please?” She batted her eyelashes and hated herself for manipulating him with girlish tricks.

The candle-bright smile returned. “How can I resist such a sweet request? That would be ungentlemanly.”

“Let me get my hat.” She took extra long pinning it to her hair. While she'd never broken a promise to Tell, she didn't feel good about letting Jeffrey go. He was nice enough, certainly not a twat like Tell said, but she had to admit Jeffrey wasn't quite the man she wanted to spend her life with.

There was no one else like Tell. She couldn't imagine professing her love to him. He'd laugh himself hoarse if she did. As long as they'd known each other, he'd never acted interested in her in any way other than as a big-brother figure. If he knew about the sex book she kept under her mattress, he'd probably die of shock. She'd never thought about doing anything she learned in it with Jeffrey. Even in her dreams, her nighttime thoughts belonged to Tell.

This was so wrong. She had to get rid of Jeffrey. Soon.

Jeffrey escorted her out of the dress shop. He took her arm as they stepped onto the boardwalk and into the high midday sun.

Sylvie's mouth felt dry and she struggled to think of something to say to him. It wouldn't be easy saying goodbye to the first man ever interested in courting her, even if he was a little boring.

He prattled about the bank and steered her toward the angel statue. From the beginning, she'd thought it eerie. It hadn't gotten any better over the years. The rusty red stains on its cheeks had worsened with time, giving it the appearance of weeping blood. The hollow eyes offered nothing but a bleak, soulless existence. It would be a blessing if lightning struck the ugly thing and cracked it into a hundred pieces. Even with the addition of flowers and grass around the marble effigy, it still gave her a bad feeling.

And she couldn't help associating the angel statue with the night Beryl had attacked and bitten her. It hadn't been Beryl, really, just the lust demon Rosemar using her. Sylvie had always worried
lust demon
might be catching, the way stories claimed vampirism was.

“Sylvie?” Jeffrey's brow knit and his mouth turned down. “Did you hear me?”

“No,” she admitted. Better to be an honest fool than a lying one.

The lines around his mouth deepened. “I feel as though you don't listen to me half the time. What are you thinking about that's more important than me?”

“Tell.”

In his ever-annoying, mysterious way, Tell had appeared in front of them. Or maybe she'd failed to notice him come out of a shop, but either way, there he was. Right at the precise moment when she'd been about to suggest to Jeffrey that they spend some time apart.

“My word, Heckmaster. What happened to you?” Jeffrey's eyes rounded.

It was easy to understand why anyone would be shocked by Tell's appearance. He no longer looked like he was half on death's front stoop, but he had two black eyes, a neat little row of stitches on his forehead, and his left arm was pressed tightly against his chest. Sylvie wanted to drag him to the nearest bed.

Tell lifted his right shoulder and grimaced. “Just a little accident out in the desert. I need to speak with Sylvie, if you don't mind.”

“As a matter of fact, I'm in the middle of my lunch hour with Miss Duke. We're having a nice chat. An important talk, if you will.” Jeffrey pulled her a little closer. “You can visit her any time, can't you?”

The corner of Tell's mouth rose in a half smile. There wasn't anything friendly about it. “Matter of fact, this is important too. I need to speak with her.”

Jeffrey glanced at her. “We're busy, aren't we, Sylvie?”

“I was about to share something with Jeffrey, Tell.” She raised her eyebrows. Surely he understood what she planned to do. He'd cowed her into it, after all.

“Fair enough.” But the muscles in Tell's jaw jumped. “See you later. Enjoy your walk.”

She almost asked him to wait. He wouldn't have bothered them if what he wanted to say to her wasn't important, but she owed it to all of them to break things off with Jeffrey.

“He must be the clumsiest man in existence. Each time I see him, he has another cut, bruise or scar.” Jeffrey shook his head. “Do you think he's running some sort of illegal boxing club?”

“He's not clumsy.” Tell had the grace of a mountain lion. Sleek and tautly muscled, he'd be capable of knocking Jeffrey off his feet before the other man knew what hit him.

“No matter. I hope you can concentrate now. You'll want to listen to what I'm saying.” The smile he gave her was the same one he gave children and hard-of-hearing old people. “As I was saying, in a few weeks I'm leaving for San Francisco and I'd like you to join me.”

Her indignation over the smile faded. “That wouldn't be proper. Wystan and Rhia would never let me go to a faraway city with a man I'm not married to.”

The little box appeared in his hand almost as smoothly as Tell had materialized out of the shadows.

“I know that, Sylvie, and I know I'm in love with you. I think you might be in love with me, so let's make it more than a business trip. Let's make it our honeymoon.”

She blinked. The little sun-bright diamond in the setting stared up at her, daring her to refuse. “No.”

His smile fell. “What?”

“No, I don't want to marry you because I'm
not
in love with you.” She backed away. “I'm sorry, but I can't.”

“Why would you say such a thing to me? What do you mean,
you're not in love with me
? Of course you are.” His voice rose with every word. He snapped the ring box shut. “We've been courting for nearly a year and a half. We're in love.”

Sylvie ducked her head, but looked up through her lashes. Jeffrey's face had gone red and more than a few heads were turned their way. “Can we please discuss this somewhere besides the street?”

“You-you Jezebel!” He jabbed his finger at her. “You allowed me to believe there were feelings between us.”

They'd never exchanged a kiss or talked about love. What in the world had possessed him to believe she loved him?

“I'm not a Jezebel and you know it. Nothing uncouth has gone on between us. If you tell people that, then I'll—”

“Sic your brother-in-law on me?” He laughed. “The Heckmasters think they're so high and mighty. I know you've had your heart set on Tell since you were a child, but he's never going to marry you. Do you know what he is?”

Her throat went dry again. How could Jeffrey possibly have guessed Tell's heritage?

“He's a womanizing layabout who pretends he's important in this community because he arrests the occasional drunk. He walks around with a crossbow as though he's going to defend against enemy armies any second. A
crossbow.
We're not in the Dark Ages any longer. The Heckmasters are delusional. All of them. Eban doesn't even have a license to practice medicine and Wystan drives away visitors with his scowl. We'll never get a railroad line through here with him acting as mayor. They all seem to believe they have the right to do whatever they please because their parents helped found this town. What do you see in them?”

“You have no idea what this place was like before you came here.” She balled her fists and put them on her hips. “You don't know what a struggle it was to live here or what the Heckmasters have done for people like you.”

Jeffrey threw his hands up. “He's your hero, I understand. So tell him you love him and don't toy with the hearts of men who have good intentions toward you. Who am I to stop you if you want to be with perfect Tell Heckmaster?”

“Jeffrey, it's not like that—” Who was she trying to convince? Herself, more than anyone.

“Don't make excuses. By the time you come to your senses, I'll be in San Francisco.” He turned his back on her and walked away.

There were a dozen or so people watching her. She lifted her chin and pinched her lips together. More to keep from blurting out that the gawkers could mind their own business—peppered with a few choice obscenities—than to hold back the embarrassed tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

She took a deep breath and then smiled. “What a perfectly lovely day. I'm so glad I decided to take a walk. Well, lots to do. I must get back to my shop.”

Humiliation burned through her with every step. After she slammed the shop door behind her, she turned the sign over to
Closed
then leaned against the wall.

“Having a bad day, Miss Duke?”

Meacham's voice was the equivalent of shaking a can of rusty nails while listening to rats scratch inside walls. It was the very last thing she wanted to hear today.

“What do you want, Meacham?”

His glamour gave him the appearance of a man in his late forties, balding, several inches shorter than her and with enough lines on his face to make him seem grouchy and unapproachable. Not such a far stretch from his real face. Except he was completely hairless with skin like a potato left out in the cellar too long. His tiny, narrow eyes seemed to cast anger on everything. Meacham wasn't the kind of creature anyone wanted to be around for long. Abbeylubbers were supposed to enjoy cleaning anything and everything, but he'd turned away from his roots long ago.

Because she knew about the glamour, he looked like the little monster he was. “I brought you a gift.” He gestured at the crate that resembled a rough coffin leaning against her sewing table. “You're going to want this.”

She put her hand on the doorknob in case she needed to flee in a hurry. “Why would you bring me a present? We're a long way off from Christmas.”

“Ho, ho, ho.” Meacham crossed his arms. “I not only bring a gift, but I bring tidings from the end of the world. You're gonna save us, Miss Duke.”

Her head was spinning from the exchange on the street. Meacham's riddles were hardly a cure for it. “I'm sorry.
I'm
going to save us from the end of the world?”

“Yep.” Meacham nodded and thumped the crate with his palm. “This is only part of the solution.”

“I don't mean to be rude.” Maybe a little, because she didn't want him there. “But I'm not interested.”

“You'd let us all die because your social life is suddenly a wash?” Meacham tilted his head. “That's selfish. I don't want to die because Tell goes on the rampage. There's one person who can stop him and you're the lucky girl.”

“Tell.” She crossed the room. “Because of his curse?”

“Sadly, yes. Someone knows his name and someone intends to use it.”

“Why would you think that?” A chill wrapped around her. “Tell wouldn't hurt anyone but a demon.”

“I can show you.” Meacham's voice was quiet, less gruff than usual. “It won't be pretty.”

“If I don't want to see?”

“I don't think you can resist.” He offered his hand.

Sylvie licked her lips and put her hand out. His fingers were rough and hands scarred from centuries of cleaning up after the men and women he'd served in Europe. She'd never asked what brought him to Berner, mostly because she didn't think he would tell her.

He closed his fingers over hers and the world darkened. The stench of sulfur rushed into her nose and hung heavy in the air. Air that was blistering. Sylvie blinked, but it didn't erase the image of Berner before her. It looked like Hell had broken open. Skulls and bones littered the ground, crunching under hooves and hooked feet. Demons with wings perched and crawled all over the buildings. Others crouched in the shadows beneath the blazing white sun. They moaned and howled as Tell—his eyes burning blood red—stood before two captives bound to a stake in the center of the street.