Personal Demons

by Phoebe Ravencraft

  Epilogue

  Ephraim looked down on Miriam and quietly seethed. She lay on the altar in the master’s “home,” her red skin covered in sweat as she shook with fever. Her wings trembled visibly, and the chainmail bikini she wore rustled softly, musically as she shivered. Her black hair was soaked. He wanted to throw a blanket on her, thought she must feel cold despite the way her body burned, but the master had assured it would do no good nor give her any comfort.

  Damn Sassy. Damn that bitch to Hell.

  She had somehow ignored the magic-dampening power of silver. She had stolen Ephraim’s Nephilim ability – an epic insult, even from her disrespectful mouth – to prevent him from killing her. She’d broken his nose. She’d accidentally killed one of Devlin’s flunkies to trigger the spell that would bring Akashareth to Earth.

  And Miriam had paid the price for that.

  Struck by the demonic prince’s . . . whatever power that had been, she was now sickly. The only joy he had in his miserable life was ill, perhaps fatally so, because Sassy Fucking Kincaide couldn’t just die like a good girl. Everything she touched caused his own life to wither further. He did not think it was possible to hate a person more than he did his illegitimate half-sister.

  His nose throbbed painfully. He blinked away the tears it caused and looked around. Miriam’s stone altar rose from a black surface he wouldn’t quite describe as a floor. It did, after all, stretch out infinitely in all directions. The royal-blue “sky” looked more like a painted wall than an atmosphere. But it also went on forever. Red lightning sparked across the “ground.” A deep-purple energy flowed into the altar through its base from the blackness.

  Ephraim stroked a lock of hair from Miriam’s head with the back of his hand. She shivered at his touch. He winced. He didn’t like her in this, her true form. It didn’t matter that he knew she was a succubus; he still preferred her human guise. And seeing her demonic body suffering this way made her look weaker – if a demon could suffer so, what chance had a human?

  “Don’t die, Miriam,” he said. “I already hate Sassy too much. I can’t make her suffer enough to pay for her crimes if she’s cost me you as well.”

  “She will recover,” the master said, his voice the sound of bees swarming. “Akashareth did not permanently harm her; she is immortal. It will simply take time for her body to flush the infection.”

  “And will she be the same?” he spat, struggling to make the sounds around the swelling in his face. “If his power was enough to lay low a demon, will she return to me as well as she was before?”

  “Perhaps,” the master said. “It remains to be seen.”

  God damn it. That fucking bitch Sassy. She was going to pay for this. He had no idea how, but he was going to make certain she suffered beyond all reason.

  “You should be pleased, Ephraim Silverman.”

  “Why?”

  “The mission was a complete success.”

  Ephraim looked up, hot fury burning in his eyes. If the master had had some physical form he could touch, he’d have beaten him senseless.

  “A success?” he roared. “You call this a success?”

  “She will recover. And even if she had been killed, the mission still succeeded. Alistair Devlin and Akashareth are both dead. Two thorns in our side have been completely removed. We’d have been satisfied with one or the other. To get both is a triumph of great proportion.”

  Ephraim shook his head in disgust. The master was shortsighted. He only saw the end result. He wasn’t measuring the cost.

  “A triumph,” Ephraim spat. “Akashareth and the demon hunter may be dead, but the cost was high – too high. Miriam is grievously wounded. By your own admission she may not make a complete recovery.

  “And Sassy got away. Again! But not before she caused no end of trouble.”

  “You must control your passion, Ephraim Silverman. It clouds your judgment, shrouds your vision. In any game, pieces must be sacrificed. Not every asset makes it to the end. The one you call ‘Miriam’ will survive this incident. Whether she is the same as you remember is immaterial. She will still have value, though it remains to be seen how much. That must be evaluated upon her recovery.

  “As for Cecily Kincaide, her escape is disappointing but not detrimental to the outcome of the mission in question. Two enemies were slain where we hoped for just one. Allowing the N’Chai Toroth the opportunity to avoid death at the moment is not a setback.”

  Ephraim bristled at the suggestion Sassy was the N’Chai Toroth. No one had established that it was indeed she and not him. But that was irrelevant to this argument with the master.

  “I want her dead,” he growled. “I want her blood on my hands.”

  “And you shall have it,” the master promised. “But we thought it is revenge you sought.”

  Ephraim cocked his head. What the hell was the master’s problem? How could he not grasp the thing Ephraim desired?

  “They are the same thing!” he roared.

  “No,” the master said, his voice the sound of a cobra eyeing its prey. “You were outraged that Alistair Devlin would be the man to kill Cecily Kincaide. You wanted to handle it personally, because you want to make her suffer.”

  “Yes,” Ephraim said.

  “Therefore, Cecily Kincaide’s death is not enough for you. You want her to die horrifically, having suffered greatly.”

  “Yes,” Ephraim said.

  The very thought made his heart race.

  “We have the means to render this. And had you succeeded in sacrificing Cecily Kincaide to Akashareth, you would have been denied this particular joy. There was therefore benefit in her escape from you.”

  Ephraim’s eyes opened wide. There was something better? There was indeed a way to inflict his hatred on Sassy?

  “Tell me,” he said.

  Slowly, his voice oily and sinister, the master explained what he had in mind. With each sentence, each phrase, each word, Ephraim’s heart tumbled in excitement. Oh, yes. Oh this was grand. This was exactly what he wanted.

  “Cecily Kincaide loves only two people in the world,” the master concluded. “We will use them both against her.”

  Ephraim’s grin was so wide, it made his broken nose ache worse. He didn’t care. He couldn’t stop smiling, couldn’t contain his delight. Sassy was going to pay. Oh, dear God, was she going to pay. She was going to wish not that she’d never met Ephraim, never discovered she’d had powers. She was going to wish she’d never even been born.

  He would punish her severely for stealing his birthright. And he would treasure every one of her screams.