The Devourer
Page 33
If it hadn’t already pushed him over.
His roars deafened her senses, but as she raised herself, it was the sight of him that struck her dumb. The monster’s long fur was matted and bloodied, sticking to open wounds and bleeding sores that covered every part of his body. And the burns! What she had thought to be festering flesh was too alike to acid burns.
Mercedes shuddered. Choice, habit or scars decided a ghost’s appearance, but the grotesque creature before her could not possibly be the result of convenience. Scars of a harsh death, perhaps, but far more likely was…
Compassion sparked a pale pink glow. The demon shied from it, his animal cries subdued to a raspy whimper. It spied on her, eyes hidden in the rough tufts of fur that framed its features. The pain and distrust that whipped around the confines of his shield stung like a thousand needles, and Mercedes wept.
This morning, a little boy had come to her. Long dead, wet and lonely, he had cried silently.
This afternoon, another little boy, although grown up, had put his head in her lap. Lost, grieving and desperate, he had tried to wash his fear away with tears.
And now she sat across this loup garou; this demon who, bleeding, confused and in so much pain, was really only a little boy.
‘What is your name?’ she asked, imagining him a young child lost in the park.
Denial, absence; notions rather than words answered her. Reluctance, yet no outright refusal. No secret.
Strands of gentle violet curled out. Perhaps she was too forgiving of him, as she was of Eric’s violence. Her fury, curbed but not extinguished, rebuked her kindness, even more so when the demon snapped at the colourful ribbons she offered him. But Mercedes ignored that vindictive inclination. It did more harm than good, especially when directed towards one already so hard on himself. She thought of Eric’s tired stance and vowed she was not going to make that mistake again. Instead, she wove tender pastels through her thoughts as she focused on the suffering creature.
‘Please, will you tell me your name?’
‘My nature is at odds with existence. I am nothing. No one…’ The blackened tongue licked the wounds on his arm. He hissed. ‘There is no name. No name. Only damnation.’
His despair tugged at her to succumb. She fought to resist. ‘What is nameless, instils fear. That which has a name, has dignity.’ She extended her hand. ‘Please, monsieur, will you not tell me what you call yourself?’
Acid-eaten lips revealed his countless teeth. ‘Criminals. Have. No. Name!’ And he leapt forward.
An immense weight crushed her; the weight of his exhaustion and his devastating hunger for justification. Justification for the hatred that consumed him, as well as for his forbidden hope that he would find reprieve if he consumed her instead. Overcome by the incredible force, Mercedes lay petrified as the demon sank his sharp teeth into her shoulder and chest.
He drank her colours like juices from an over-ripe apple. The bite hurt less that she believed it should, but the poison! That same poison that withered away the demon’s lips now burnt holes into her resolve. Every drop spread loathing. How could she have deserted Danielle? How had she ever thought that she, a despicable half-woman, could make a stand against a force so much stronger than her pathetic, feeble mind? She was nothing.
‘Stop. Please, stop…’
She gasped when a second burning sensation responded from deep within. Not the fire of righteous outrage, but the wretched self-depreciation that had tormented her for years. That particular poison was her own, but what seeped into her—
—darkness beyond darkness; void; nothing left; all was void; hunger; hunger for vengeance; hunger for light; there was none; there was nothing; nothing to sustain—
‘All need sustenance,’ the demon’s thoughts spelled out as they filled her mind. ‘For devourers, lowest outcasts, void and worthless, only forbidden sustenance would satisfy.’
She strained to withstand his ceaseless feeding. Despite weakening, she was grateful to be conscious. It meant he had not yet turned on her soul.
‘Not any soul will do,’ he growled. ‘Only one.’
—black; void; the edge of everything. Void yet not empty. There; invisible but there. Others; hunched; incomplete; hungry. Hunger compelled to devour; devour all—
‘Only souls will make us whole,’ the demon panted. ‘But only one soul is ours to eat. Devour it; erase our existence. To that fate I must resign myself. Submit.’ He shivered. ‘I must. That is my place. That is… just.’
Mercedes jerked, her shock at the truth streaming down her face like tears.
‘Yet I… lack courage for justice.’ He bit down harder, but no longer drew energy from the wound he had caused. ‘I fight justice, I hide. A criminal at large, I steal to survive…’ Another sting, that of remorse, mingled with the poison as his teeth withdrew. ‘Only by punishing others guilty of transgressions can I pay for my own. Only as long as my contribution outweighs my debt is my existence tolerated. Should I fail yet again, if only once…’
He turned away, but his thoughts remained tangled around hers. A bitterness crept up on her, carrying with it memories of a failed hunt. Feeding on her energy had not healed his wounds, yet he had made no attempt to claim her soul.
‘Jean was wrong about me,’ she whispered into the darkness, ‘but I believe he was right about you, M’sieur.’ In this phonetic merger of “monsieur” and the similar-sounding “Mattieu”, her address for him now bore all significance of a given name. ‘He was right. You are desperate, not evil.’
The demon made a sound, a whine that increased in pitch until it erupted in utter agony. Open wounds, already wet, began to bleed in earnest. Images flushed from him, strong but fleeting. Too fleeting for her to make out. She tried, but the instant she distinguished a face in the jumbled blotches, a claw ripped through her side.
‘Cease your invasion! You infiltrate where you are not welcome.’ Talons grabbed her throat while above her, his enormous jaws opened. ‘Your intrusion ends. Now!’
Time stopped. The talons around her neck morphed into pale, cold fingers. Mercedes shivered. The demon still towered over her, but his face, despite teeth still too large for his mouth, recovered its human appearance.
‘What is evil,’ he said, voice quivering with fear and disdain alike, ‘if not the act of harming those undeserving of such persecution?’
She searched her frayed mind for a reply, any reply. As the first words formulated in her mind, the demon suddenly tightened his shield in uncontrolled terror.
The black pressure of the barrier passed through her, releasing her onto the fog-laden banks of the river. For a moment, she was lost. Caught up in his pain, she had almost forgotten the city beyond his dark world.
Yet the instant she regained her senses, they were hijacked by the approach of four gargantuan figures.
Dark, faceless statues drew nearer, slowly but relentlessly. Black wings lay folded against their backs while in their hands they each carried a broad shield and a battle sword. In nothing did they resemble what she knew them to be or how she had first seen them, but she recognised them. So did the demon.
The sentinels had come.
‘M’sieur!’ She groped for his arm, but he had gone before she could grasp it. Only a faint trail to tell her he had dived, fast and deep, into the darkness. She shuddered, wondering how deep he would go this time. Not as deep as the sentinels willed him, she hoped. No one deserved so cruel a fate.
But she had her own problems. The demon’s flight didn’t deviate the giants’ course and they now came for her, one who belonged here no more than a demon. Where to go? Without her body, where could she—
In her panic, a sharp tug in her back hauled her out of the fog and through a door she sensed only in passing. The ache that followed was unusual compared to her recent trials, yet familiar in its acuteness. She groaned. Her throat hurt with the strain of it.
“Madame! Oh please, wake up, madame!”
The sensation o
f being slapped on the cheek was oddly dull, yet when the significance of it registered, most welcome.
“Madame? Oh God, please let her be alive. Madame!”
Amélie. Mercedes huffed willing her mouth to recall its vocal function. When it did, the unintelligible muttering split her chapped lips in the process. Her whole body felt as it had after taking too much laudanum.
A body!
She had a body. Aching and sore, but feeling and breathing. Thank Heavens! Then maybe Danielle… Ah, but first things first.
All through waking her chilled limbs, Mercedes held on to the comparison of drugs. As far as she could tell, the light was wrong for midday. More likely a lamp. If that meant what her numbed muscles told her it did, she could save herself a lot of trouble by blaming her current state on a fictional dose of laudanum.
Sometimes a good lie was better than an unsavoury truth. Especially when the floorboards under her shook with the tremor of Eric’s firm footsteps. Although after what she had seen just now, she’d rather not speak to him at all.
Chapter XXII
The river.
The river swirled around her. Wave after wave tore open her skin, her blood mingling with the water. The shroud of black water filled her mouth, her nose. She spluttered for air, but it was a losing battle. Too deep, too heavy, too much pain. So much pain! It burned, seared and shrivelled her flesh. It ate at her, inside and out.
Tears, blood and acid choked her. No trace of her cord. No lifeline as the river pulled her into the outstretched arms of oblivion. Death crept closer. That was just. The thought startled her, but persisted. She had to die. Justice required that she should di—
No! Not yet! Not—!
Tendrils clasped her wrist. On the verge of drowning, Mercedes desperately attempted to wrest free, but the grasp was stronger. Brighter, too. Where it touched, the putrid water receded, and death recoiled.
Safe! Saviour…
‘Anne?’
The darkness dried and the shadows warmed. The hand around her wrist guided her gently into the light, to a familiar round table. The fragrance of the big scented candles eased her anxiety, while wisps of steam, rising from the mug she held, whispered of calm and quiet, of a haven away from the world.
Across the table, smiling in the candlelight, sat Anne. Her wild curls loosely framed her face. She wore not her usual, exuberant gypsy clothes, but a simple red robe with a dark blue shawl draped over one shoulder.
They spoke at length. The words were indistinct, but their chatter felt pleasant and cheerful. Mercedes’ heart leapt with joy and love. World-wise, headstrong, compassionate Anne. How many people would come in through that cellar door, seeking help or advice? Anne gave it, asking payment only from those who could and taking the rest from the belligerent men who laid with her. Small justice for little people, but it sufficed. Sometimes kind words were enough to bring colour and hope to an otherwise dreary existence. It had for her. Nothing could ever fill the hole left by the loss of her babies, but Anne’s friendship did give her the strength to bear that loss.
Her gaze wandered to the box of cards that Anne always kept on her table. Mercedes remembered the carved wooden form well, yet now its contours, graced by the candlelight, were made of white alabaster. It no longer contained a fortune-teller’s cards, either. How she knew, she could not say, but were she to open the delicate box, she would find a balm inside. Holy ointment, which Anne shared so readily with whoever needed their pain relieved and vitality replenished to their worn and beaten body. It was the balm that she had given to Amélie. The saving grace she had given Mercedes…
In that instant she knew this was the fateful day, somehow both years ago and only hours past, when this dear, resolute woman had coaxed her broken heart from its self-destructive plan to embrace the river.
The river. Always the damned river!
The dirty window by the door rattled in its rotten frame. Near the shelves, a shadow slithered across the curtains. Alarmed, she peered into the dusky corner. Was it the devourer? And if so, which one? Last time she had encountered them here, she hadn’t known the difference.
Uncertainty struck a flame to her fear. The window shook harder as something crashed against it. Something that wanted in.
‘Anne?’
As the room grew cold, Anne’s expression flitted between the comforting smile Mercedes longed to see, and a look of sheer, abject horror.
‘Anne, what is happening?’
At once the window imploded and the river came thundering in through the opening. She made a wild turn to shield Anne, but it was too late. The last she saw of her friend was a featureless face that shrunk to a skull as it disappeared beneath the gurgling water.
The cellar crumbled in the wake of the river, which plunged Mercedes into the deep darkness once more. Currents tossed her head over heels, stripping her of every last concept of time and space. Time, space – the shield! Was she inside the demon’s shield? Or outside it, unprotected? Fear clogged her throat, until, like a drowning figure struck with a flash of absolute clarity, she jolted.
‘No more.’
That thought, clear and crisp like a flawless crystal, propelled her upwards. Before, the darkness had been sticky and suffocating. Now, as she ascended faster and faster, it seemed no thicker than air. Like a knife through gauze, she broke through the surface and into the light.
Light took shape and the majesty of Notre Dame rose before her. She waded out of the water to climb the stone steps to the cathedral. The Seine lapped at her ankles in a futile attempt to draw her back into its folds.
‘No more.’
Unaccountably heeding her will, the water retreated from her hair, her dress, and finally her shoes. Without that burden, her feet trod lightly as she climbed further, to the cathedral’s vaulted doors.
‘You should not be here,’ a voice spoke severely. ‘Not so soon after your recent ordeal.’
By the door, where no one had been until now, stood Jean. But he seemed out of sorts. His face was contorted, his hair matted, he wore no jacket, and what was visible of his shirtsleeves was dirty, the cuffs worn to thread. Mercedes recognised him only by his soul’s signature.
‘I want to see my daughter,’ she insisted.
He blocked her path. ‘That would be… unwise.’
Mercedes’ energy contracted in shock. Frantic, she willed him to disappear, but to no avail. She was no longer dreaming.
‘Allowing you access to her also opens the door to others,’ Jean said, but nevertheless permitted her to peek inside through a window of his creation.
The window gave her a much wider view of the sanctuary than it should. Such inconsistencies still unnerved her, but all this ceased to be of importance when she saw her little girl lying sprawled on the flag stones.
‘Danielle!’ She tried to push Jean aside, but he would not budge. ‘Let me in! For goodness sake, let me in. I need to see her.’
‘You cannot.’
Jean gripped her firmly. Deep inside her, flames of resistance flashed to life – only to waver when on the other side of the window, Danielle clambered to her feet. The girl tilted her head and stared intently at something on the floor. Then she put a small piece of white chalk into her dress pocket, pulled up one leg, and began to hop across the stone floor.
‘Hopscotch?’ The fire in her throat crawled back and subsided while her aura throbbed with the heated orange of embarrassment. ‘I saw the shadows take her, and I thought—’
‘I am releasing you from your part of our agreement,’ said Jean. Clouds of dejection swirled about him, adding to his harrowed appearance. ‘I should not have asked it of you in the first place.’
Mercedes stepped up. ‘It is a bit late for second thoughts, I should think,’ she chided sharply. ‘If this is about my staying out too long, you must have noticed, as I did, that while time passes differently away from the threshold, it can compress as well as stretch.’
Jean’s face creased with misery. �
��Astute observation, but alas that is not why you survived past your body’s tolerance. You should not tempt fate – or him! – by trying again.’
His reluctance to explain was scrawled all over his aura, yet he acknowledged her silent question.
‘Your demon’s shield,’ he whispered. ‘The barriers he draws between himself and the world are so absolute that within their borders, time compresses.’
‘His shield… bought me time away from my body?’
‘On this occasion, yes, but do not attempt to rely on it. The compression he creates is neither constant nor consistent. He is too volatile.’ The guide averted his gaze, his wrinkled eyes sad and bleak. ‘Far more so than I had anticipated.’
The air grew restless, disturbed. Crests formed on the fast-flowing river while above, thick clouds packed together with unnatural speed. Jean craned his head back and watched the developing storm with deep concern.
‘You must leave. You have done well, but I declare our agreement void. I will uphold this sanctuary for the girl as recompense. Now go!’
Mercedes stood firm. ‘I cannot withdraw,’ she cried over the roar of the swelling river. ‘The other is already after me. If it isn’t stopped, I will die regardless!’
‘Do what you must! I only beg you not to involve yourself further with your demon. You should not have to risk your existence to rectify my mistake.’
His words were almost lost as the storm tore their connection asunder. An unseen blade stabbed her shoulder. Mercedes pressed her hand to the wound, only to find she was unhurt.
‘What mistake?’ she cried, but the thought dissipated as all went black and she fell; fell until she landed with a shock that sent a spasm through her limbs.
She struggled to find her bearings. Her cramped arms thrashed erratically as she fought to sit up despite the restraints binding her legs.
“Forgive me, madame,” Amélie’s tense voice moaned close by.
At the sound of her maid, Mercedes ceased her flailing long enough for her dry eyes to blink open and recognise her restraints as nothing but the bed sheets. The stabbing she had felt must have been Amélie shaking her shoulder to wake her up. If so, it had worked.