“Huh?” I peered at Amy and my shoulders slumped. Her irises were just a thin ring of icy blue around a bottomless pit of darkness. “How is that possible? You said an incubus couldn’t enthrall a succubus!”
Daraxandriel hesitated. “Although Nyx had part in her making, Amaryx is not truly a succubus. Moreover, the ring greatly magnifies his power. I would doubt mine own ability to resist his touch now.”
“But when did it happen?” I turned on Amy. “You were with us the whole time!” She cocked an eyebrow at me and I groaned. “It was after he attacked Dara in the apartment, wasn’t it? He couldn’t get her so he took you instead.”
“Something like that,” she agreed teasingly.
“But you were helping us!” Her grin widened. “Oh my God, you were lying about what was in the journal, weren’t you?”
“All that stuff about Dara was true,” Amy smirked. “The rest was, well, mostly true, except for the part about Dr. Bellowes reaching his limit.”
“But that thing with the Earl was real,” I protested. “Melissa Googled it!”
“It was, but the revolution didn’t fail because Dr. Bellowes couldn’t handle that many people. The demon inside the ring was dying. It needed to be fed another soul to keep things going.” She shrugged eloquently. “He figured it out eventually. Too late to help the Earl, of course, but oh well.” She shrugged dismissively.
“But what was the point of making all that up? It didn’t change anything!”
“I wanted you to send all the witches straight to the incubus,” she explained, as if the answer was obvious. “It would have avoided all this running around. But no, you had to be all noble and protective and stuff.” She rolled her eyes and blew a raspberry at me. “Talk about a waste of time,” she grumbled.
“If you’re quite done, Amy,” Not-Peter sighed, “you might want to step out of the line of fire.” She flapped her wrist in acknowledgement and walked straight towards him, exchanging narrow-eyed glances with Rebecca as she planted herself on his other side.
“What are we going to do, Peter?” Olivia whispered anxiously. All around the incubus, the witches tensed at some unseen signal. Some of them brandished wands and the ball of fire in Agent Morgan’s hand blazed like a miniature sun.
I drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Stay here,” I told her softly. “Get ready.”
“To what end?” Daraxandriel asked warily.
“To run, if this doesn’t work.” I took another breath and walked towards the incubus. Mrs. Kendricks and Agent Morgan moved closer to him and I stopped at the halfway point. “Let’s talk!” I called.
“You’re just stalling,” Not-Peter accused me mildly. “What could you possibly have to say that would be of any interest to me?”
“Do you really want me to just shout it out where everyone can hear?” I countered.
“We don’t keep secrets from each other, Peter,” he smiled. “We love and trust one other.”
“Right.” I put as much scorn and skepticism into the word as I could. Not-Peter’s expression didn’t change but his eyes flicked left and right.
“Well, you’ve piqued my curiosity,” he declared. Morgan leaned closer and said something to him, her eyes boring into me the entire time, but he waved her off casually and walked towards me, stopping ten feet away and crossing his arms in a confident pose. “So what do you have to say?”
“You’ve won, I give up,” I told him. His eyebrows rose in surprise at my surrender. “But let Dad go. He can’t hurt you.”
“But he can contact those who can. He and you and Dara are the only ones who know what happened here. And Olivia, of course, although there’s really not much she can do about it. After you’re gone, life will go back to normal and everyone will believe that I’m simply Peter Collins, another nondescript high school student.” He looked incredibly smug. The only thing keeping me from punching his nose through the back of his skull was the fact that it was my nose.
“At least leave Susie alone,” I gritted through my teeth.
“Why would I do that?” He looked genuinely surprised.
“Because she’s my sister!”
He shrugged eloquently. “She’s not my sister.”
My anger and frustration boiled over and I exploded with a stream of invective that would have made the most jaded sailor cover his ears, calling him every vulgarity I’d ever heard plus a few I made up on the spot and suggesting various physical acts he could perform on himself. He just stood there and smiled until I finally wound down into panting silence. Quite a few of the witches looked shocked. Dad just looked bleak.
“Well, I appreciate your advice, Peter,” the incubus told me wryly, “but I think it’s time we wrapped things up. Any last words?”
I looked around one last time. Daraxandriel and Olivia were where I left them, looking frightened and forlorn. “Just one,” I said, turning back to face him. He cocked an eyebrow at me expectantly. My heart thudded in my chest as I took a deep breath. If this didn’t work, I was going to look like a complete idiot. Not that that mattered, because I’d be dead, for real this time.
“WITCHES!” I shouted, to make sure everyone heard me clearly. “I LOVE YOU! SIMON SAYS, KILL ME AND EVERYONE WHO LOOKS LIKE ME!”
In the startled moment of silence that followed, Not-Peter’s smile vanished, replaced with a look of realization and horror. “Witches!” he started to say, just as the world disappeared in a flash of white.
22
Theologians and philosophers have been debating the concept of free will since time immemorial. Do people really think for themselves or is everything they say and do predetermined by God and/or the laws of physics? In other words, if you were ever transported into the past and faced a situation where you previously decided to do Option A, would you ever be able to pick Option B instead?
Thanks to modern science, we now have a much better understanding of how the human brain works, how the stimuli we receive through our senses interact with the memories stored in our cerebral cortex to generate thought and action. Many researchers liken the brain to an incredibly complicated computer, but that concept argues against free will. Computers and software programs don’t think, they merely follow their instructions to produce a result based on the input they’re given. Based on that, the obvious conclusion is that free will is merely an illusion. Given a particular set of conditions, we’ll always say and do the same thing every time.
That’s not a very comforting thought, however. None of us wants to believe that we’re merely biological robots, doomed to behave however our DNA and our upbringing dictate. We cling to the belief that we’re in control of our own destiny, because when things go horribly wrong, at least we can blame ourselves for making the wrong decision and promise to do better next time. There’s no lesson to be learned when some implacable cosmic fate screws you over for no good reason.
I slowly levered myself up onto my hands and knees, every muscle in my body screaming for mercy. I was in the bottom of a shallow crater filled with gritty smoke that scoured my throat with every shaky breath I took, but at least I was breathing. I lifted my head with difficulty, trying to get my eyes to focus again.
Every witch in the cemetery stood within a glowing pentagram, thirteen of them arrayed in a kaleidoscope of colors and patterns. They all watched me in eerie silence, their hands and wands outstretched and ready to strike again.
“Witches,” I said weakly, and then bent over in a series of wracking coughs that threatened to rip my lungs in two. “Witches,” I tried again, “I love you. Simon says, don’t kill me anymore.” The tension in the group eased noticeably and one by one the pentagrams winked out.
I sat up with a groan and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, leaving a smudge of blood across my fingers. I studied the large gold ring on my middle finger and tried to smile, except it hurt too much to do that. So it actually worked, I mused. I’m back in my own body. The engraved symbol glowed deep violet, noticeab
ly dimmer than it was before. I hoped that meant something good.
I was dressed in the charred remnants of a t-shirt and jeans and the Philosopher’s Stone lay on my chest, pulsing bright red now in time with my heartbeat. I closed my hand around it and felt its soothing warmth flow through my body, easing my pain and healing the damage inflicted by the coven’s attack. Totally worth it, I told myself, as long as I never have to do this again.
I got to my feet, looking around. Dad stared at me in disbelief, as if I’d just risen from the grave, which I supposed wasn’t too far from the truth. Daraxandriel and Olivia looked much the same but at least they were unharmed. Most of the witches looked confused, either because they weren’t sure why they just tried to kill the man they thought they loved or because it didn’t work.
I’m forgetting something, suggested a niggling thought in the back of my mind, and I surveyed the area, trying to figure out what was. Something we’re supposed to be doing right now. I did a quick head count. Thirteen witches, three regular women, two demon girls, one ghost girl, plus Dad and me. That’s everyone, isn’t it? My breath caught in my throat as I whirled around. “Where’s the incubus?” I shouted.
A shifting haze covered the area, the remnants of whatever magic the witches unleashed on me and Not-Peter, making it difficult to see clearly, but I wasn’t even certain what I was looking for. He obviously fled my body when the witches attacked but Daraxandriel said the incubus was a spirit of some kind. Is he a ghost now? I wondered uneasily, feeling the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Is he trying to possess me again? I clutched the Philosopher’s Stone like a protective talisman. Or is he trying to possess someone else now? “Dad! Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Peter!” he called, his voice ragged with relief. “How did you –?”
“Never mind that! Don’t let the incubus touch you!” Unless it’s already too late, I worried. How would I know if he’s already possessed?
Mrs. Kendricks raised her hands and her ornate pentagram flared into existence, spinning slowly around her feet. A gentle breeze sprung up, carrying away the dust and smoke, and suddenly Olivia shouted, “There! Behind you, Peter!”
I spun around and stepped back in alarm as the last wisps of haze dissipated. Something lay there at the edge of the crater, moving in obvious pain. “What is that?” I breathed.
It looked like a man, sort of, but the proportions were all wrong. Its arms and legs were spindly compared to its sunken chest and protruding gut and its head had a blunt snout instead of a regular mouth and nose. Bristly hairs clung to its grayish skin like tufts of black grass. It looked like an unholy cross between an old man and a sewer rat.
The creature groaned as it tried to stand, its joints creaking and popping. It held up a claw-tipped hand, flexing its gnarled fingers, and bared its uneven teeth. “What hast thou done to me?” it rasped. “Whyfor am I trapped within this misshapen husk?”
“That’s an incubus?” I swallowed uneasily.
“That is an incubus made manifest,” Daraxandriel said grimly, coming towards us with her sword pointed right at the creature’s heart, assuming it had one. “My Dread Lord’s curse seized its spirit once it fled thy corpus.”
“The curse got it?” I’d assumed the curse would go back to Olivia when I was back in my own body but I supposed the incubus was a closer and juicier target. “So what do we do with it now?”
“Slay it,” she stated flatly. “Elsewise it remains a threat to us all.”
The incubus glared at us with small onyx eyes. “Thou hast no power over me,” he snarled. “Witches, I love you! Slay this imposter and this demon!”
My breath caught in my throat but none of the witches moved. It took me a long, anxious moment to figure out why and then I laughed. “You don’t look like me or sound like me anymore,” I told him. “They won’t obey you.”
The incubus’s face twisted in shock and anguish. “Nay! All of thee have sworn thine affections to me! Thou art mine, body and soul!” The younger witches backed away, looking ill, while the others just looked on in stern silence. “Fay! Ariel! Lend thine aid to me! Destroy this body and the curse which binds me to it, that I might reclaim Peter’s anew!”
Mrs. Kendricks and Agent Morgan exchanged glances and then turned to me. “Peter?” Mrs. Kendricks asked. “What do you want us to do?”
I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “Destroy the incubus and the Dread Lord’s curse. I don’t want either of them coming back, ever.”
“Nay!” The incubus scrabbled backwards frantically but Daraxandriel leapt around and drove it back into the crater with the point of her sword. “Spare me!” it pleaded, falling to its knees. “I shall depart thy world and ne’er return! I swear this, upon my very soul!”
“Kill it,” I said flatly, “once and for all.” Nobody moved. “Witches,” I called, rolling my eyes, “I love you.” All of the witches straightened, awaiting my orders, and I heaved a sigh. I guessed the magic word when he used it on Susie – the magic phrase, to be grammatically correct – but I only actually loved two of them. Saying it to all of them when I didn’t mean it made me really uncomfortable. “Okay, from now on, the magic word is Simon says. Understood?”
“Yes, Peter,” all of them responded in perfect unison, which made me shiver and not in a good way.
“Okay, then.” I cleared my throat. “Simon says, obliterate the incubus and the Dread Lord’s curse!”
I had a lot to learn about controlling an army of witches, starting with making sure I wasn’t standing near the target I ordered them to attack. The explosion picked me up and tossed me aside like a used tissue in a windstorm, sending me tumbling across the manicured grass until something solid and immovable brought me to a sudden stop. I lay there for a long while, gasping for breath and wincing at the stabbing pain in my side.
“Peter!” Dad appeared beside me and helped me sit up. “Are you all right?” His face was white with worry.
“I’m fine,” I assured him and then I sucked in my breath when part of my ribcage moved in a direction it shouldn’t have. I fumbled for my Philosopher’s Stone and sagged in relief as its warmth coursed through me again. “Okay, now I’m fine. What happened?”
“Peter Simon Collins!” Daraxandriel bounded into view, looking a little worse for wear herself. Her clothes were scorched and a new wound oozed dark blood on her forearm but she seemed otherwise whole. “Art thou well?”
“I’m fine,” I said again. “Help me up.” The two of them took my arms and hauled me to my feet. I tried to clap the dust of my clothes but that just shredded them even worse, so I gave up. I eyed the headstone that I’d collided with. Given how my day was going so far, I wouldn’t have been surprised to see my name engraved on its polished marble surface, but fortunately it belonged to someone I’d never heard of. “Did it work?” I asked anxiously. “Is the incubus gone?”
“Aye,” Daraxandriel nodded, “it is well and truly gone. Naught remains of it, nor of my Dread Lord’s curse.” She gestured towards the crater, which glowed with an eerie greenish light that slowly faded away.
“Thank God,” I sighed.
“So it’s over?” Dad asked hopefully. He nodded to the witches, still standing in the same place watching us. “Are they going to be okay?”
“They will be,” I told him, “after we take care of one last thing.” Seventeen pairs of dilated eyes followed me as I crossed over to Agent Morgan. I pulled Dr. Bellowes’ ring off my hand and held it out to her. “You said you could destroy this.”
She took the ring and weighed it in the palm of her hand. “Yes,” she agreed, “but why?”
“Why?”
“Why don’t you want to keep it? All of us are under your control now. Some men would kill for that power.”
“I’m not one of them,” I told her firmly. “This ring is too dangerous. As long as it’s around, someone’s going to want to take it and use it.”
She pursed her lips as she
perused the ring. Its purple glow was barely visible now. “Dr. Bellowes used this ring to destroy demons. We could do the same.”
“What?” I asked, startled. “Are you kidding me? After everything that happened today?”
“Today was an aberration. Give the ring to me, Peter,” she insisted. “I can keep it safe and use it as it was meant to be used, to keep humanity safe from demons.”
“No,” I shook my head vehemently. “It’s too risky.”
“Don’t you trust me?” Her voice had a definite edge to it.
“I don’t even trust myself,” I told her frankly, “which is why we have to get rid of it.”
“Peter –”
“Simon says, destroy the ring!”
Her hand snapped closed into a fist and painfully bright light leaked out between her fingers as her Philosopher’s Stone blazed like the business end of a laser. Her whole arm trembled as liquid gold dripped from her hand, igniting the grass at her feet. Finally, the lightshow ended and she slowly opened her hand, exposing her palm. It was blackened and bloody and I could have sworn I saw the bones of her hand before her Stone flared again and the flesh grew back, pristine once more.
“You’ve made a terrible mistake,” she told me curtly, her blue eyes flashing in anger.
“It wouldn’t be the first one,” I sighed. Sirens wailed in the distance, growing steadily louder. “Uh-oh, we’d better get out of here.”
“Don’t worry about them, Peter,” Dad said wryly. “I’ll take care of the paperwork. Although I’m not sure how I’m going to explain this,” he added, eyeing the crater dubiously.
“A gas leak, maybe?” I suggested.
“In a cemetery? Well, we’ll think of something. Rachel,” he called out to Mrs. Burns, “do you have your phone on you? Cancel whatever alert got sent out. The fewer officers we have here, the better.” Mrs. Burns didn’t respond. She just watched Dad with a pensive expression. “Rachel? Are you okay?”
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