Eban Read online

  Eban rubbed the center of his forehead. “Then what are you doing here? Is there any chance I can talk to someone else?”

  “This noble act you attempt interests me. Saving humans when at heart you must fight your own nature.”

  “I don’t fight my nature. I don’t want to hurt humans. No one in this town does. We want to live peaceful lives. We only fight when we’re threatened.”

  His guest’s hand tightened on the sword. “You are familiar with mirrors, are you not? With seeing your countenance displayed?”

  This angel was worse than Seere, talking in riddles. “Yes, I know what I look like.”

  “Then you must know the battle you face each day. If one thread of control snapped, your demon side would come to light. Your fight is that. Do not worry about the human, her battle is her own.”

  The thread the angel mentioned was already frayed. It had almost slipped when he kissed Beryl the other evening. Eban hung his head.

  “You’re not going to help me.”

  He’d wasted four days with the hope that he might get an answer he could use. He’d given Seere his word that he’d do the prince’s dirty work when the time came. Worse, he’d failed Beryl. His gaze shifted to the saber. The blade was free of the scabbard, shining in the flickering candles moving in the nonexistent breeze.

  He might as well slit her throat tonight while she was sleeping.

  “I wish to see this woman you speak of.”

  “That’s not possible.”

  With his luck, the angel would slice Beryl’s head off and disappear into whatever heavenly realm he’d descended from.

  One by one the candles went out. A gust of wind nearly knocked Eban off his feet. The cinnamon and pepper scattered around the room, burning his eyes. When he blinked, the angel’s feet touched the floor. Rather than looking ethereal, he appeared solid.

  “The woman, Ebaneezer.”

  “How did you do that?”

  All he got for an answer was a patronizing look. The angel’s long fingers tapped on the sword’s hilt.

  “You’re not going to hurt her.” Eban squared himself in front of the door.

  “What I would do is a mercy compared to the life you think you’re giving her.”

  “She’s my friend. She didn’t ask a demon to enter her.”

  “Are you so sure?”

  He hesitated. “No one would do that.”

  “Remove yourself from my path, or I will remove you.”

  “Dammit.”

  “Too late for that.”

  Because he’d never summoned an angel, nor tried to, he hadn’t realized what it would take to contain one. More symbols, ones he hadn’t studied, and probably stronger herbs. The creature gave off an aura more powerful than any demon Eban had faced. No small wonder Tell had warned him against messing with things he didn’t fully understand.

  He moved, going for his saber, but before his hand touched the cold silver, another blade was at his neck. Although it wasn’t touching his skin, it emitted heat that sent a shiver through him.

  “Your sad mortal weapon cannot harm me. Mine is another story. Away from the sword, demon spawn.”

  “I’m not letting you kill her, no matter how merciful you think it is.”

  “Eban? What’s going on?” Beryl’s voice was muffled through the door. She rapped softly. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine. There’s nothing wrong.” He narrowed his eyes, daring the angel to speak up. “Go back to bed.”

  “Open the door.” The angel’s eyes were on it, looking past him.

  Maybe she could hear him, or maybe the angel had some power over her, but the knob twisted and the door opened even as Eban threw his shoulder against it.

  “Don’t come in here.”

  “Why? Is there a demon inside? Eban, answer me!” She sounded frightened, twisting the knob back and forth.

  “Open the door, Heckmaster, or your lack of respect will bring about your doom.”

  “Beryl, run! Find Tell. He’ll make sure you’re safe.” Even as the words left his mouth, he wasn’t sure about that. Maybe Tell would finish the job the angel intended to start.

  An invisible hand swept Eban away. The door burst inward and Beryl stood framed by the light in the hall with a silver hatchet in her grip.

  Eban’s heart skipped a beat. There was a coldness in Beryl’s eyes that didn’t match her personality. She shook her head, letting golden hair fly around her face. She doubled over laughing, the hatchet hanging loosely in her hand.

  “An angel, Eban? That’s so pathetic. You humans and your good intentions.” She straightened, her full lower lip sliding into a seductive pout. “Rosemar of the Gray Lands. You won’t have a name suitable for human tongues.”

  The angel lowered his sword. “Eliakim will do. There was no mention of the Gray Side in the prior conversation.”

  Eliakim’s expression softened.

  She circled him, then leaned against the wall.

  “Eban, what are you trying to do? Our new friend is powerful, but he’s got nothing on me. Frankly, I’m a little hurt that you want to get rid of me.” She waved the hatchet. “I’m starting to think you don’t like me, even though I saved your life.”

  Eban clenched his fists. “You’re not going to win. I can’t get help from Heaven or Hell, but you’re not staying inside her.”

  “This one is bold. She does not fear.”

  The tip of Eliakim’s sword pointed at the ceiling, but he didn’t look as though he planned to attack.

  “What do I have to fear? I was born in Hell. I served my master with honor until he no longer needed me and cast me away. I spent eons in that place, saw horrors you can’t imagine, suffered torture that would drive you mad, and I came out unscathed.” Rosemar stood straight, unflinching at the sight of Eliakim’s weapon. “I made my deal with the Gray Side and per the treaty, you can’t harm me.”

  Eban’s heart dropped to his feet. “There’s a treaty between Heaven and the Gray Side? Even though she’s clearly violating some kind of rule by occupying a human body?”

  Between the hatchet and the sword, he was sweating. They both probably sensed his unease, but there was little he could do about his fear. It surprised him that Tell hadn’t come running if all this power was swinging around the way he warned it would.

  “She violates nothing if she was instructed to use the human.”

  “As I’ve said all along.” Rosemar ran her thumb across the hatchet blade. She smiled at Eliakim. “You don’t even need to ask Eban to release you. You came because he called, but you’re walking around as boldly as Prince Seere ever does.”

  The angel’s eyes narrowed at Seere’s name.

  She turned to Eban. “Don’t be surprised if this one decides to remain. You should’ve bound him, but now he can do whatever he wants. Big man with a sword—well, he’s liable to slaughter the entire town.”

  “The town is at peace with the Gray Side. Heaven is in a treaty with them, so I’m not worried.” He was, but he wouldn’t admit it out loud.

  “I wonder what would happen if I let Tell’s name slip? I bet our new friend would put him down like a rabid dog.” Her smile grew and the hatchet gleamed with golden light from the lamp outside the door. “Har—”

  He moved forward, hand raised to hit her if it came to that. “Stop it.”

  “You’re really no fun. Couldn’t even bed Beryl when she threw herself at you. I wonder what Seere thinks he’s going to get out of you?” She twirled a strand of hair around her finger. “Well, if you don’t need anything else, I’m going out.”

  He forgot about his anger at Eliakim. “You made Beryl do that.”

  She smiled, but didn’t answer.

  “You can’t keep visiting the saloon. Tell told me what happened last time you were there.” He ig
nored the angel and the fact that he’d brought this down on himself.

  Rosemar snarled. “I need blood to keep this body looking like it does. Otherwise, she’ll rot. I know you don’t want that.”

  “You could get it without going to the saloon. No one knows you’re a demon except us and Heng. You’re supposed to be a human, remember?”

  “Peace. I will accompany her.” Eliakim slid his sword into its scabbard.

  Eban spun to face him. “Don’t you have angel things to do? You can’t walk around town like you belong here.”

  “Seere does.” Rosemar smirked.

  “Seere’s not an angel that I conjured.” His head throbbed. “Wystan will be home tomorrow, Tell already told me I’d better not break open the Pit, and you swore you wouldn’t do any harm, but I know you’re thinking about it.”

  “Poor Eban.” Rosemar moved forward, running the back of her cool hand down his face. “I could take your mind off all your troubles for a while.”

  “I’ll bet you could.” He drew away. On the off chance something he tried wouldn’t blow up in his face, he looked at the angel. “Eliakim, I release you. You may go.”

  Rosemar laughed, stifling the sound behind her hand, but Eliakim cocked an eyebrow.

  “I told you, just like Seere. He doesn’t bow on human whim. Tell and Wystan are going to have a fight over which of them gets to sever your pretty head.”

  “I will go when I have mulled over the situation. Until then, I will enjoy a walk upon this earth. Much time has passed since my last visit.”

  On the verge of stomping away from the clinic and riding out of town for good, Eban blew out a breath. “Remarkable how much he resembles Seere. Not to mention mimics him. ‘You presume much.’ If I hear that out of either of them one more time… Rosemar, Eliakim, I release you. Go.”

  Nothing happened.

  Rosemar continued to smirk and Eliakim stared.

  “Fine. Do whatever you want. I’m going to bed.” Eban grabbed a broom leaned against the wall and swept the pepper and cinnamon into a pile. “I might as well get a good night’s sleep before my brothers kill me.”

  “Seere would resurrect you. He needs you in order to defeat Astaroth.” Rosemar patted his shoulder. “Eliakim may not help you save Beryl, but you could have done much worse than summoning him. Take comfort in that.”

  “Real comforting when I let power surge across the universe and risked opening the Pit,” he muttered.

  “Eban.”

  It wasn’t Rosemar’s voice that caused him to look up.

  Beryl put her hand on his chest. “It’s not your fault.”

  “Stop it,” he growled. “I don’t need this right now.”

  Rosemar’s harsher frown took over. “You’re going to find more trouble than you ever imagined if you don’t stop acting like a silly boy and take the yoke of responsibility.”

  “I’m responsible for her, but no one seems to care.” He pushed her hand away.

  “This one is weak. It will take a great jolt to wake him up.” Eliakim looked at the ceiling as though listening to something only he could hear. “It was no mistake he summoned me. I must think on this. To your saloon?”

  Rosemar nodded. “Eban needs time to think as well.”

  “The hell with both of you.” He had no guarantees Eliakim wouldn’t slaughter Rosemar once they stepped outside, but he couldn’t stop it. Neither of them gave a damn what he thought about the situation.

  He swept the remains of his mess into a dustpan and left it for the morning while the unlikely pair slipped out of the clinic. Through his open window, he heard Rosemar laugh. Maybe he’d summoned a demon in disguise from the Gray Lands. She didn’t seem the least bit threatened by Eliakim.

  Disgusted, he picked up his pillow, then threw it against the wall. It did nothing to relieve his tension. Without the Ars Notoria, he was afraid to trying summoning another angel. His next visitor might not be so nonchalant about the invocation.

  Exhausted, he dropped onto the bed. His failure begged the question of whether he should tell Beryl she was going to die. Was it better to know, or leave her unsuspecting? He imagined the look on her face once she found out about Rosemar. She’d be horrified. Would she want him to do the job before Rosemar started taking a toll on her body? He knew she’d hated being ill when she first arrived in town. Perhaps she wouldn’t want to suffer that again—and suffer she had. He’d nursed her through long nights of coughing and sputum, half afraid she’d die no matter what he tried.

  She’d pulled through then. Because of that, he didn’t want to let go now. If Beryl died, it would be like the moon winking out for good. The faint glow she cast on the world would leave him in perpetual darkness. He couldn’t stand the idea of failing a fragile human life.

  Not for the first time, he cursed the day Rhia had driven her rickety wagon into town.

  Chapter Seven

  Beryl wished whoever was moaning in her ear would stop. It made her splitting headache worse. She snuggled beneath the covers, curling against the solid source of warmth next to her. For a moment, the noise stopped, but her stomach lurched and it started all over again.

  Someone whispered her name. A hot hand caressed her forehead. She couldn’t open her eyes for fear of seeing the room twirl around her like an out-of-control wheel.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  The warmth left and she clung to the feather mattress beneath her, praying the world would right itself, the headache would vanish and her stomach would stop flopping like a fish.

  “Here. Sit up a little and lean to your left. It’ll help settle your stomach.” A pair of hands lifted her into a sitting position. “Hold this.”

  A cold metal basin plopped onto her lap.

  “You’ll be all right in a while.”

  “Eban?” She dared crack an eye, peering at him through her lashes. Light coming through the window drove a spike into her brain. She moaned, clutching the basin. “What’s happening?”

  “I’d say you drank too much.”

  “I don’t drink. Not even when the customers are buying. You can’t get drunk on tea.” Her eyes felt dry as the land surrounding Berner. They snapped open as she realized what she’d said. A million more spikes exploded in her head. It was too much and she held the basin close as her stomach emptied.

  He’d hate her now. She reeked of alcohol and sickness, had admitted to entertaining men, and for some reason she couldn’t recall, had apparently imbibed—a lot.

  Although her ribs felt as though they’d burst through her skin, she thought she’d survive long enough to suffer Eban’s disappointment. She sank against the pillows propping her up and narrowed her eyes so she could only see his face.

  His expression registered sympathy. He took the basin, settled it on the floor, then drew the sheet up to her neck.

  “I’ll get you some water and a wet rag. There’s not much we can do except let you ride it out. Sorry about that.” He disappeared again, leaving her in a puddle of misery scented like a saloon after a long night of debauchery.

  Beryl wiped her hand across her mouth. Her palm came around smeared with blood and she stared at the bright crimson stain. Her stomach turned again.

  Eban came through the doorway, his hands full. She lifted her shaky hand.

  “Am I dying?”

  He stared at her pale fingers for a second, but didn’t meet her eyes. “No. I think it’s…”

  “What?”

  “An ingredient in whatever you were drinking. Trust me, you don’t want to know.” He settled on the edge of the bed and dabbed her face with the wet cloth. “Better not to ask.”

  The cool swipes against her heated flesh were reviving. She watched him through her eyelashes again. He smiled, though it was full of pity. When he laid the cloth aside, he stroked her hair back. He lowered his fa
ce to hers and brushed a kiss across her forehead.

  “You’ll be all right in a few hours.”

  She wanted to curl close to him and sleep in the comfort of his arms as she’d clearly done last night. The thought jarred her. The room was starting to settle and she realized it wasn’t hers. Eban’s bedroom was papered with striped wallpaper in dark blues. Her walls were brown and cream. She tried not to worry about what she was doing here. He’d offered her comfort when he knew she wasn’t herself. Finding out what had happened was more important.

  “Why was I drinking?”

  “I’m not sure. I wasn’t there,” he murmured. “Drink some water. You’re dehydrated.”

  She took the cup, almost sloshing water over the side. Her stomach warned it was a bad idea, but she drank anyway. It didn’t ease the furry feeling in her mouth, but it stayed down.

  “I have no memory of it. Nothing.”

  There were other things crowding her mind—flashes of color and laughter, touching men. A lot of men. No one she recognized from Berner, no place she could name.

  “I don’t expect you do. You weren’t yourself last night.” He lowered his chin to chest. “You mentioned you don’t drink. Did you remember something else?”

  “I’m not a good person.” She drew her knees up, hugging them. “I’ve done bad things for money.”

  She closed her eyes, resting her chin on her knees.

  “Don’t think about it right now.”

  His calm voice only made her angry. When he pressed the cloth to her forehead, she snatched it away, wincing as pain jarred her skull.

  “I don’t want your sympathy.”

  Eban sat back. “Drink the rest of the water and I’ll make you some tea. It’s early. There’s still a couple of hours before we should expect Wys and Rhia.”

  Beryl rubbed her forehead. “That’s today?”

  “Yeah.” He didn’t sound happy about it. “You should have a bath before they get here.”

  Heat burned her face. “Why did you let me drink?”

  “I didn’t. Some things happened and you left. You didn’t return until about four this morning.” He didn’t look at her.