by Joy Nash
Luc looked at Arthur. “Damn. You killed a shit ton of those things.”
“The staff killed them,” Arthur replied.
“Michael was right.” Cybele’s eyes glowed with excitement. She thrust the staff into his hands. “Can you do it again? Can you take out more of them?”
“Wait just a freaking minute,” Luc reached out and grabbed the staff, just above Arthur’s grip. “I wouldn’t be so quick to try whatever the hell that was again. You nearly killed Cybele and me.”
Arthur looked up at the sky. Hellfiends, in every direction, as far as the eye could see. Except directly overhead.
“Go back inside,” he told the others. “I’ll see if I can do it again.”
“All right,” Cybele said, tugging on Luc’s arm. Luc sighed and released the staff. They backed into the shelter of the landing, Luc pulling the door shut behind them.
After a few moments and several deep breaths, Arthur set the staff upright on the roof before him. Legs braced wide, he gripped the shaft, left hand above right, and closed his eyes.
A full minute later, he opened his eyes. Nothing. Worse, he felt no spark, no flame, no life at all. The staff, though no longer broken in two, was nothing but a few pieces of tangled, twisted wood. Merlin’s touchstone might as well have been a powerless chunk of coal.
Arthur wasn’t sure whether he should be relieved or terrified at this new development.
He strode to the door. Cybele and Luc loitered in the stairwell behind it. “Well?” Cybele demanded. “What are you waiting for?”
“Nothing,” Arthur said. “The staff’s dormant again. Or maybe it’s dead for good this time. In any case, I can’t feel a thing.”
“What about Merlin’s memories?”
Arthur closed his eyes. “I think—” He blew out a breath. “Damn, I think they’re gone, too. At least, I can’t see any of them. I remember other lives. But Merlin’s? No.”
“But...you’ve already seen Merlin’s memories. They have to be inside you. They can’t just disappear.”
At one time Arthur might have agreed, but now? He couldn’t be sure of anything. “I don’t know what’s happened,” he said. “Maybe they’re still in there. Maybe I just need to find them. But...don’t get your hopes—”
A flash of red caught his eye. He broke off, swinging his head around to stare at Luc. “Oh, shit.”
“What?” Luc said, frowning.
“Your thrallstone,” Arthur said. “It’s glowing.”
Cybele sucked in a breath. “No. Oh, no. You used your magic, Luc, when Arthur...”
Luc slapped his palm over the stone. The ruby’s red light shone through his fingers. Arthur caught his friend’s gaze. Luc looked quickly away, but not before Arthur had seen the raw panic in his eyes.
“She’s found me,” he rasped.
TWENTY-FOUR
“I’m leaving.” Luc’s eyes were haunted. Cybele wanted to touch him, put her arms around her brother’s shoulders and hug him tight, but the rigid tension in his body told her he’d never allow it.
There’s nothing you can do,” he said. “She’s calling me. I have to answer.”
They were back in the apartment. Arthur stood by the window, the staff propped against the wall beside him. Luc eyed the door to the hallway, as if ready to bolt through it any second. Cybele leaned against the door. Leave? Her brother would have to go through her first.
“No.” Nausea churned her stomach. “You can’t leave, Luc. I just got you back. I can’t lose you again.”
“You never got me back,” Luc said tightly. “I belong to Mab. I always will.”
“Don’t say that.”
Her brother’s eyes were bleak. “It’s true, Cybele. Face it.”
She felt as if she were being torn apart. “No, I won’t—”
“Cybele.” Arthur spoke from his position by the window. “If he doesn’t go to Mab, she’ll be coming this way soon enough. She has to suspect we’re with him.”
“I’m sure she does,” Luc said. “But Mab isn’t one to go into a situation blind. It’d take her twelve hours to fly here from Texas—she’ll want to be sure of what’s going on before she arrives. She’ll want to lay out a plan.”
“She might send one of her thralls to investigate,” Arthur said. “Rand, probably.”
“Luc.” Cybele could hardly stand to think of her brother once again in Mab’s hands. “Don’t go back to Texas.”
“I can’t stay here. I won’t draw danger to you.”
“Go into hiding. There has to be somewhere Mab can’t find you.”
“Oblivion,” Luc said. “I tried that one. Didn’t work out.”
Cybele choked back a bitter taste in her throat. “There’s got to be another way.”
“There is,” Arthur said. “I’ll go with Luc to Texas and issue my challenge to Mab in person. You can stay here.”
“What? No. No way. I’m going with—”
“Neither of you are going to Texas,” Luc said flatly. “It would be suicide. Arthur’s not ready to take on Mab.”
“I might not be ready,” Arthur said, “but issuing my challenge now, before Mab expects it, will catch her off guard.” Arthur regarded Merlin’s staff with troubled eyes. “I’ll show her the staff. It’s damaged, but she won’t know that. She’ll wonder what I can do with it. She’ll be wary.”
“You can’t be stupid enough to think you can bluff your way through a duel,” Luc said hotly. “And do what—fool Mab into thinking you’ve found the key to Merlin’s power? When you can’t even call a spark into that stone? That’s bullshit. She’ll see through you in a fucking heartbeat.” He paused, and then continued in a quieter voice. “You think you know what she’s capable of? Believe me, you have no idea.”
But Luc knew. Cybele saw the truth of that in her brother’s eyes. Her heart, already bleeding for what he’d endured, broke in two.
“I’m not totally helpless against her,” Arthur replied calmly. “I have my ancestors’ memories—hundreds, perhaps thousands of experiences to guide me. I just need a bit of time to sort them out. And I have another advantage—the challenger chooses the battleground. I’ll choose Tŷ’r Cythraul, where the magic of my line has been nurtured for centuries. Mab will need to travel. She’ll need to call the entire clan as witness. That should give me a day or so to prepare.”
“If she follows the rules,” Luc said. “What if she doesn’t? What if she kills you on sight? No.” He shifted his stance. “I’m going to Demon’s Hollow alone. I’ll deliver your challenge.”
“But—Mab will be furious.” Cybele said. “She’ll take it out on you.”
“Most likely,” Luc replied grimly. “And while she’s doing it, I’ll try to stall her. I’ll keep her away from Arthur as long as I can.”
The stone on his thrall collar chose that moment to flash. Cybele’s stomach turned. Images of perversion—dark, degrading acts her brother would be forced to endure—boiled into her brain. The expression on her face must’ve betrayed her horror, because Arthur abruptly crossed the room to stand at her side. He took her hand and laced her fingers tightly with his.
“I can’t stop you, can I?” Arthur said to Luc.
“Not without killing me.”
Arthur nodded and tugged Cybele out of the path to the door. Luc strode past them out of the flat. The door closed behind him with the finality of a lid coming down on a coffin. Arthur’s hand, warm and strong, came to rest on the back of Cybele’s neck. She made no protest as he propelled her toward the couch and tugged her down to sit beside her.
He didn’t speak. She was grateful for that. Anything he could say to make her feel better would be a lie, and they both knew it.
“We need to leave too,” he said after a few minutes. “Sooner rather than later.”
“Tŷ’r Cythraul?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“How?” She was glad to turn her thoughts to logistics. “The trains might not be running, at least not rel
iably. We could probably steal a car, but who knows what the roads are like?”
“I’ll shift,” Arthur said. “And we’ll fly.”
She regarded him gravely. “Are you sure? You didn’t want to do that before.”
“I...understand my magic a bit more now,” he said. “The debacle with the staff notwithstanding. My ancestral memories—even with Merlin’s missing—will help me focus. And we need to get to Tŷ’r Cythraul as quickly as possible. I don’t know how long I’ll have to prepare before Mab shows up.”
“What about the hellfiends?” Cybele asked. “The sky is black with them.”
“A few blasts of hellfire will get us through them,” he said, standing. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
The TV was still on, muted, a silent aerial of the so-called volcanic eruption scrolling across the screen. “Wait,” Cybele said as Arthur headed toward the door. “Let me turn this off first.” She grabbed the remote off the table.
At that moment, the broadcast shifted from the aerial to a split screen. The left screen showed a reporter. On the right...
Cybele’s fingers froze on the remote. “Arthur,” she said in a strangled voice. “Look.”
“I see the bloody bastard.” Angry footsteps crossed the room. He halted by her side. “Dusek.”
The sound of the Alchemist’s name made Cybele feel dirty. She repressed a shudder. “What’s he doing on TV? I thought...I hoped...he’d been killed.” Her fumbling finger found the volume control.
The reporter was speaking. “—and now, for a very different perspective on the volcanic eruption in Wales, BBC takes you to Prague. We’re speaking now with Professor Vaclav Dusek, Founder and Director of the Prague Institute for the Study of Man. Professor, thank you for speaking with the BBC.”
The pallor of the Nephil’s complexion was stark against the high neck of his black sweater. He inclined his head slightly. “Thank you, Reginald. I am honored.”
“Professor, you’ve put forth a shocking alternate theory concerning the eruption in Wales. Will you elaborate for our viewers?”
“Yes, of course. I—”
“Just to clarify, Professor. You are not, yourself, a geologist or volcanologist.”
“Far from it,” Dusek replied. “I am a scholar. A student of Man and his origins. I have devoted my life to the discovery and interpretation of Earth’s oldest artifacts.”
“How can ancient history possibly speak to today’s volcanic eruption?” Reginald asked.
“History speaks, as always, with absolute authority,” Dusek replied. “This unexpected event in Wales has stunned geologists and volcanologists for a very good reason.”
“Which is?”
The Alchemist looked straight into the camera. “This so-called Welsh volcano is no volcano at all.”
“What the fuck?” Arthur muttered.
Twin lines appeared between the reporter’s eyebrows. “With all due respect, Professor. I’ve watched extensive aerial footage of the disaster. I have only to look into the sky to see the ash plume. How could this be anything but a volcanic eruption?”
“Ah, but that is because a volcano is what the denizens of the underworld wish you to see. The truth, however, cannot hide from those with clear sight. That is not volcanic ash spewing into the sky. It is an army of demonic fiends sprung from the bowels of Hell.”
Arthur swore again. Cybele could only manage a gasp.
The reporter appeared no less stunned. “Just to clarify, Professor. Are you saying Earth is under attack? By an army of demons?”
Dusek nodded. “Precisely.”
“But...but...that’s absurd.”
“Is it, Reginald?” Dusek leaned toward the camera. “How can you be sure?”
A half-laugh burst from the reporter’s lips. “Because...demons aren’t real. They’re a myth. Creatures created by human fear and imagination.”
“Oh, no,” the Alchemist replied. “I assure you, demons are very real. They have roamed the Earth since the dawn of human existence. They have ravaged men, raped women, drunk the blood of infants. Their numbers, however, have been limited. Until now. Mark my words, Reginald. The barrier between Heaven and Hell has been breached. A horde of hellfiends is streaming unimpeded into the Earthly realm. These demons will invade human minds on every continent. They will influence and possess billions. Horrible depravities will occur.”
“Um...” Reginald looked uncertain as to what reply he should make. Suddenly, his fingers snapped to the audio feed in his ear. He cleared his throat. “Well. Thank you, Professor Dusek, for that...um...unique, if...um...fanciful perspective on the volcanic eruption.” Abruptly, Dusek’s face vanished from the screen. “We go now to Carmarthen where we’ll speak with a number of eyewitnesses...”
Cybele didn’t realize how tightly she was holding the remote until Arthur pried it from her fingers. He hit a button. The screen went black. Cybele continued to stare at it. “Not all humans are going to be as incredulous as that reporter,” she said. “Now that the idea has been planted, a lot of people are going to realize what’s going on.”
“What I don’t understand,” Arthur said slowly, “is how Dusek knew of the cave and the hellfiends in the first place. The false memory he sent me seemed so real. I would have bet my life it belonged to Merlin.”
“That memory was real,” Cybele told him. “But it wasn’t Merlin’s. It was Nimue’s. She wasn’t a witch, Arthur.”
His eyes narrowed. “She was a Nephil. An Alchemist.” She saw understanding dawn in his eyes. “She was Dusek’s ancestor.”
“Yes. At least, that’s what he told me. He knew about the portal to Hell that Nimue opened with Merlin’s staff. And he knew the fiends were still trapped below the cave, waiting to burst out. When he couldn’t pull the staff from the stone himself, he tricked you into doing it for him.”
“I fell right into his trap.”
“You couldn’t have known,” Cybele said.
“That’s no excuse.”
Cybele met his gaze. “What I don’t understand is why this TV interview? Why would Dusek want the whole world to know the truth?”
Arthur looked as much at a loss as she felt. “To create a global panic?”
“Panic’s inevitable, that’s for sure. There must be hundreds of millions of those things, spreading all over the globe. Who’s going to fight them?”
Arthur shifted Merlin’s staff from one hand to the other, his gaze trained on the lifeless crystal.
“I will,” he said.
***
The door to the second bedroom squeaked open a crack.
“Are they gone?”
“Yes,” Lucky said, opening the door wide.
“Thank the everlasting fires of Hell,” Maweth muttered. A shudder ran through him. “It was bad enough when the archangel was here. Then Michael left and things got even worse. Geez.” Ignoring all the plaster dust, he plopped down on his back on the carpet. “When that staff exploded, I thought for sure we were goners.”
“Um...we can’t die,” Lucky pointed out, hovering in the air above him. “Either of us.”
Maweth looked at him and sighed. “Lucky, Lucky, Lucky. It’s just an expression. But even so. We might not be able to die, but we can get extremely uncomfortable.”
“I guess,” Lucky said, fluttering down to the floor.
“You know what?” Maweth sat up suddenly. “I’m hungry.”
“Hungry?” Lucky’s blue eyes blinked. “I didn’t know you had to eat.”
“Oh, I don’t have to,” Maweth replied. He flew into the kitchen, Lucky buzzing in his wake. “I just like to sometimes. My favorite is the food that kills people,” he added. “Especially the newer stuff—you know, trans fats, high fructose corn syrup, artificial coloring. But good old-fashioned sugar, salt, and lard are fine, too.”
He bumped about, opening and closing cabinets. “Here, gimme a hand with this refrigerator.”
It took both of them pulling on the handl
e, but the door finally popped open. Maweth peeked into a white paper bag. “Whoa! Doughnuts. Jam ones.” He crammed one into his mouth and held the bag out to Lucky. “Wnahnt some?”
Lucky landed on the counter. “No. But thank you.”
“Suit yourself. No use letting these babies go to waste.” He ate another jam, and then three custards. “Yum.”
Lucky frowned.
“What?” Maweth paused mid-chew. “Grossed out by my table manners?”
“What? No, that’s not it.” Lucky flew to the windowsill and peered out. “I was just wondering where all those hellfiends are going.”
“Oh, that’s easy. They’re going anywhere humans are.” He grabbed a bottle of milk and chugged some down. “Especially evil humans. And the angry ones, the hating ones, the grief-stricken ones—”
“But why? What are they going to do with them?”
“Influence them. Or outright possess them. Depending on how suggestible they are.”
“And then what?
Then what? Maweth put the milk bottle down on the counter. He suddenly felt a little sick.
“Then what?” he repeated. “Don’t ask. Because you really, really don’t want to know.”
TWENTY-FIVE
Michael had never seen Raphael so angry.
Or so frightened. His brother’s habitual pacing had morphed into a frantic scurry. With each pivot, cloud droplets frothed into Michael’s face. He didn’t dare wipe them away.
“The pair of you are idiots,” Raphael ranted. “Idiots, I tell you. I give you one simple task: watch Arthur Camulus. Keep him out of trouble. And what happens? What happens? Trouble doesn’t even begin to describe it.”
Michael stopped himself from pointing out that watching Arthur and keeping him out of trouble were, in fact, two tasks. As it had turned out, two impossible tasks. Wisely, he kept his mouth shut and exchanged glances with Gabriel instead. Gabe, he noted, was once again in possession of his walking stick. Leaning on it, he rolled his eyes. A daring bit of insolence, but luckily Raphael was too agitated to take note.
“And now,” he continued, “because of you two, Earth is going literally to Hell.”