Shady Lady

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.

If I’d ever wondered whether he was a fully functional man, he put my curiosity to rest with slow hip movements. At some point he had been some woman’s lover. The name sounded old—why didn’t I stop this? I shouldn’t—

Oh.

His lips traced over the side of my throat, tasting the blood the demon had drawn. “Who hurt you, dādu? I will bring you his heart.” He nuzzled my ear, whispering in a language I didn’t recognize. “Ana dadika.”

Even knowing he held another woman in his mind, I couldn’t pull free. I told myself I didn’t want to fight him; there was no telling what new hallucination resistance would summon. Slowly I grew conscious of my nakedness and that there could be people watching us. He wouldn’t thank me if I let him sweep me into the delusion.

“Kel,” I whispered.

His hands wandered, exploring me from shoulder to hip and back again. His tats blazed until they burned against my skin. He bit down on the curve of my ear. “Say it again.”

“Kel.”

“It’s been so long. So long since I touched you.”

I exhaled slowly. If he moved or I did, protest would be moot. Already I could barely remember why I didn’t want to do this.

“Look at me. I’m not Asherah.”

Finally, the silver shine faded from his eyes. I could tell the moment he recognized me. But his desire didn’t vanish; since we were naked, I would’ve been humiliated if it had. Instead his longing gained layers. His gaze carried eternity, the weight of loneliness, and something unfamiliar. I only knew that I had never seen that expression in anyone before.

“Binder,” he breathed. Dimly, I remembered Caim using that word. “You called me back. You gave me your breath.”

“You needed it.”

“I need this.” He shifted his hips as if asking a question.

I didn’t ask why. In truth, I needed it too. No promises, just relief and the keen, knife-edged moment. I needed to wipe away the horror handling the demon’s harness had left behind.

He lowered his head, and this time he kissed me. His lips felt fevered against mine, faintly flavored with my blood. It did not revolt me, only offered a coppery tinge, and then it was more, a kiss that took my breath and gave it back. Heat rose from his body like sunlight on crystal and quartz.

“This creates energy,” he whispered into my throat. “I can use it to drive off that cursed sleep. I can’t leave you unguarded now.”

I didn’t care about his reasons. I just wanted him. It was enough that he knew who I was. In answer, I wound my legs around his hips. I didn’t care how many people might be watching from the shadows. Let them think we were pagans or devils.

He filled me with divine heat in one smooth motion, and I arched. His fingers curled around the rope of my braided hair, tugging my mouth to his. We kissed endlessly, our bodies rocking as one. As the heat amplified and his motions quickened, his tats shone brighter. I could feel them on my skin like starbursts.

“Corine,” he murmured. “Binder. Thank you.”

Kelethiel, son of Uriel and Vashti, I whispered back soundlessly. Thank you.

His face struck me as reverent, as if we shared more than our bodies, as if for him, this counted as both prayer and ritual. I responded, letting the sweet glow carry me higher. Sheer intensity ratcheted my need to ferocious levels, and I lost myself in him, bucking and whimpering against his lips. When he came, the sigils on his skin lit in unison, bright and pure and powerful. Answering energy burned out of me like a meteor and fell into his skin. When the glow dimmed and died, there were no new marks on him. No dried blood. Just the old scars. With my fingertips, I found the place where once wings had grown. He shuddered beneath my light touch.

“Will you get in trouble?” I asked.

His head rested in the curve of my shoulder. He did not move. “For what?”

“I just assumed . . .”

His lips lifted against my skin; he was smiling. “I’m not celibate by vow. . . . The rules of your religions do not come from us. We are older than your writings.”

I felt impossibly young and inexperienced beside him, yet safer than I ever had. “Oh. Well, I’m sure you—”

He put a finger on my lips. “I needed to share that with you . . . for many reasons. To fuel my healing, as I said . . . but that’s not the only reason.”

“There’s more?” Please, let it be something good. I needed to hear it, even if there were no promises. I didn’t ask for those . . . just a memory of his voice in the dark.

“You called me back from the pit and asked nothing in return. I know of no other way to express . . . no deeper—” Words failed him then.

“I get it.”

Maybe it seemed strange, but I believed we’d performed some ancient rite, and it also served as a way for him to say, Thank you, and I care. We said with our bodies what we could never speak out loud.

He went on. “Ordinarily . . . I abstain. It is unfair to share such intimacy when I can never stay. And I have spoken too many good-byes.”

That addressed his longevity, but it was more too. The moment they ordered him elsewhere, he would go. That much I knew. It hurt, but it wasn’t an impossible pain. Instead I felt lucky to have this moment; despite everything, I felt perfectly balanced.

“Who was Asherah?”

Behind his eyes, oceans of sorrow rose and fell in moontouched waves. “Someone I loved and lost, long ago.”

That was no answer, but I didn’t press. I hadn’t earned his secrets, even if he was crushing me into the ground, draped over me like a blanket. I hesitated to complain; once he moved away, the moment would become a memory. So I asked something else.

“What does ana dadika mean?” I butchered the pronunciation, but he recognized the phrase.

“Where did you hear that?”

“You whispered it to me.”

“Ah,” he said. “It is Babylonian, and it means, I am made for your love.”

Melancholy washed through me. What wouldn’t I give to have someone say that to me for real? “I’m sorry I’m here instead of her.”

One big hand curved against my cheek. “I’m not.”

My breath caught. Fresh yearning rose and he didn’t try to hide it from me. This time we had no excuse, not even a thin one. We did it again because we wanted to.