by RB Austin
Another sound erupted from him. This one different. A warning.
The queen didn’t listen.
Without thought, his arm swung up from his body then out in a wide arc.
Blood splattered. Two large pieces thumped to the floor.
More laughter.
But it was his.
No, not his. He wasn’t . . . him.
Sarid stared with his red vision at the voodoo queen, dead on the floor. What was this? How could this be?
He lifted his arms. Stared at the hard, scaled skin. The long, sharp claws.
The master had made sure he would never touch another female again.
Body and nails of a beast.
What was he?
Strong. We are strong. And we’ll no longer play the victim.
The voice was not his, but Sarid wasn’t scared.
The queen was dead. He—and the thing that he now was—had killed her.
He’d willed his mind to feel anything but what it did. To be afraid of his soon-to-be hanging for killing the woman. Dread at the master’s return. Panic at what the scales and claws meant.
But he had felt none of those. Only joy. The queen had died, and he’d been happy about it.
Pastor Ken’s voice brought Sarid back to the present.
“Do you not follow the Creator? Do you not fight under His name every single night?” The questions shot out, one right after the other. His tone almost harsh.
The demon lifted his head, but made no other movement. Sarid studied the man across from him. “Are you . . . angry?”
Glasses pushed to his forehead, the choghen rubbed his eyes, then placed the frames back on his nose. “I apologize. I shouldn’t have gotten upset.” He stayed silent for a moment, then, “Why are you telling me this? Why didn’t you just do it?”
“I hoped you could help me get ready.”
“Do you know what I think? You want me to change your mind. If your decision was firm, the deed would already be done.”
Sarid was shaking his head before the choghen finished. “There’s a woman,” he started then stopped.
The pastor’s eyebrows rose. “A woman?”
He nodded.
When Sarid said nothing else, the choghen asked, “Where did you meet her?”
“In the hospital. When I was brought in.”
The pastor paused, then inhaled quickly. “Is she still alive?”
“Yes. Though if the Other gains control . . . Do you remember your sermon from last week?”
“I do.”
“‘The biggest way to blow your spiritual potential is to do your own will.’ That’s what I’ve been doing all these years. I’ve been selfish. Do you know how many deaths, deaths of innocents, I’ve witnessed over the years? Thousands. Thousands of the Creator’s Followers murdered because I was too selfish to end our life.”
“Perhaps the Creator called those souls home. Using the Other as the instrument as opposed to illness or a car crash or some natural disaster? The desire to live is not selfish, Sarid,” the pastor said softly. “The Creator gave you life. It’s something to rejoice in, be thankful for. Yes, your cross is heavier than most, but that doesn’t mean you give up.” He paused. “Maybe there’s a way to remove the Other—”
Sarid’s hand cut through the air. “There’s not. I’ve already tried. Our souls are entwined. If one of us dies, the other will die as well.”
The choghen fell silent.
“You know I’m right. My life is not more important than any other Follower.”
“Have you discussed this with Cade? Elias?”
“No. I’m discussing it with you.”
“Don’t they have a right to know? To offer an opinion? Objection?”
“No.”
“Will you wait? Four weeks?” The pastor spoke rapidly. Moved to the edge of his chair.
“For what purpose?” Sarid shook his head. “No. It’s too risky.”
“What’s the shortest time you’ve had between an Other appearance?”
He thought about it. “Fifteen days.”
“So you can wait fifteen days, then.”
He frowned. “Again, for what purpose?”
“You came to me for preparation, yes? So, you come to me every day for fifteen days.”
Sarid said nothing for a moment then gave one single nod.
A phone rang in the distance. “I’m sorry. I need to get that. Will you excuse me for a moment?”
Once the choghen left, he stood and faced the picture window. Pastor Ken had been a good friend over the years. He was there when Sarid wanted to talk, or just sit nearby when he sought peace from his demon and didn’t want to be alone in his apartment. He’d do this one thing for the choghen. Fifteen days, then he’d end his life for the good of all.
“Hi.”
He whirled. Recoiled. The back of his legs hit the chair. Breath pushed out his mouth in a loud gush. The boy edged closer. Sarid held out his hands to ward him off.
“I need help with my homework.” A piece of paper was in the boy’s hand. A pencil clutched in the other. He stared at Sarid expectantly.
“Go ask the pastor.”
“Pastor Ken said you’d help me.”
“No, he didn’t.”
“Yes, he did. He said you knew about this stuff and that you were the perfect person to help me.” The boy waved his paper. “If I finish my homework before my mom comes, I might be able to play with Devan later. If it’s still light out. So, can you help me?”
“Um . . .” Sarid’s gaze bounced around the room. Where was the pastor? There was a tug on his hand, warmth from small fingers. He flinched and instinctively jerked back. The chair was still directly behind him and he stumbled against it. Balance lost, he fell hard onto the seat.
The boy covered his mouth with a hand, ineffectively hiding a giggle.
He met the child’s gaze, as the boy laughed again.
“That was funny. You were like—” The boy proceeded to give a replay. Arms flailed. Eyes big. Mouth hung open. “Whoa, whoa,” he exclaimed loudly, before falling to the ground.
Sarid frowned. “It wasn’t like that.”
“It was. You were funny.”
He studied the boy’s open, innocent face and wide smile. Surprised to find his own lips curling in response.
“So, will you help me now?” The boy reached behind him, grabbed the papers he fell on, smoothing the wrinkles. “I really want to play with Devan later.”
Sarid waited, listening for the demon. The choghen was in the other room. Far enough away that the demon normally took advantage. But it said nothing. Perhaps it would be okay, except, “I’ve never helped with homework before.”
Eyes widened. “Don’t you have kids?”
He shook his head.
After treating Sarid to a long study, the boy shrugged. “That’s okay. I’ll show you how to do it.” He held out his hand.
Sarid’s gaze lowered to it. Keandre. Isn’t that what the pastor had called him?
“Come on,” Keandre said.
He stood, allowing Keandre to take his hand and lead him into the kitchen.
Chapter 15
Sarid sat at the kitchen table next to Keandre. The homework on sugar cane plantations was complete, but the boy hadn’t stopped asking questions. He was in the middle of an explanation when someone knocked on the front door.
“After the cane was cut and bundled it was transferred to the mill,” Sarid continued, after hearing the choghen rise to answer the door. “The mill wasn’t a very big building. The masters—uh, the bosses, wanted to use most of the land to grow sugar. The machines were large, though. So the workers had to cram inside the building to feed stalks into the giant
rollers. It was hot. People would often faint from the heat or get sick.”
Keandre’s eyebrows lifted.
“And they had to be careful by the rollers or they could get sucked into the machine.”
The boy’s mouth dropped open.
“The juice squeezed from the cane would—” Someone was speaking to the pastor. Recognition sparked. He shot to his feet, inhaling deep. His lids drooped as comfort washed over him.
“My mom’s here.” Keandre rose, bumping the table. Milk sloshed over the rim of his plastic cup. He raced from the room.
Sarid followed. He had no choice. It was almost as if she was his gravity. His heart began to beat a little faster. The comfort from her scent slowly morphed into an intense desire to take her into his arms. He managed to stop himself from entering the room. Instead, stood in the doorway, clutching the frame.
Mine. The demon purred. It was a low vibration right under Sarid’s sternum.
He whirled, rubbing his chest, not wanting the Other to lay eyes on her.
“Sarid, meet Keandre’s mother,” the pastor called out.
Run. Through the kitchen. Out the back door. Don’t stop. He paused. Wait. What? Keandre was Asjhone’s child?
He startled. Keandre’s hand was tucked into his.
“This is my mom,” he said and pulled Sarid around.
Asjhone’s gasp was inaudible except to him. She’d stilled, eyes growing wide.
“Hello. Again.” His voice was hoarse.
The choghen’s gaze moved from Sarid to Asjhone then back to Sarid. Understanding dawned. “You met at the hospital.” Then he glanced at them once more.
Asjhone stared at the older man.
Mine. The demon growled. Mine look at us. Not him.
A red haze fell over Sarid’s vision. He inhaled sharply. Dropped Keandre’s hand. Reeled back.
Keandre looked up at him.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
No. No. No. No. Sarid clenched his hands. Squeezed his eyes shut. Shook his head.
“Keandre, come here.” Asjhone’s voice was only a whisper, but it screamed with fear. The boy moved across the room. “Is he okay?” she asked the pastor.
The choghen said something to Asjhone.
He doesn’t speak to Mine. He doesn’t speak to Mine. Look. What are they doing? Open our eyes. See what he’s doing to Mine.
“Sarid?” The pastor’s tone was quiet.
Steps forward. A light touch on his arm. “Calm.”
The demon roared. He’s tricking you. The Righteous Man will take her away from us. Wants me to leave so you’ll be weak. You must protect her. Open our eyes. Don’t let her out of our sight.
Sarid doubled over, shook his head back and forth. Not going to change. Not going to change.
The pastor slowly stroked his upper back. “You’re still here, Sarid. It’s only you.”
He reared up. The pastor gasped. Eyes now open, Sarid leaned close to the choghen’s face. Everything was washed in red. “You’re wrong. It’s never just me.” His voice was distorted, a half-growl.
Blood drained from the choghen’s face. The older man’s heart tripled in speed.
The demon laughed. More.
Sarid moaned. He ran through the kitchen and out the backdoor.
Chapter 16
When Asjhone had left the hospital, she’d wanted nothing more than to pick up Keandre and get home. It’d been a crap day. They’d lost two patients in the ER. Dr. Behall had yelled at her for no good reason in front of Monique. And Dr. Jones had followed her around trying to make date plans, because apparently, in his doctor-sized brain, she’d already said yes and they just needed to finalize the details. The ballet? Portland Symphony? A candlelight dinner for two at Bluehour? She’d spent half of her break in the bathroom just for some peace.
She’d just wanted to get home, heat up the chicken and dumplings, give Keandre a bath, then persuade him to go to bed early so she could fall into hers.
But then she’d walked into Pastor Ken’s house and found her boy—her reason for drawing breath day after day—holding his hand. The patient who’d refused treatment. The patient who’d stepped in front of a semi with no clothes on. The patient who needed psychiatric care. The patient who hung out with a bunch of probably-not-but-more-than-likely-YES! trained killers. The patient no one remembered but her.
The look on Sarid’s face said he’d been just as surprised to see her there.
So he hadn’t stalked her and wasn’t trying to get to her through her child . . . probably.
“Why did you allow that man near my son?” Asjhone didn’t mean for the words to come out like that, especially to the pastor who was doing her a favor and had warned her he had a meeting today. She closed her eyes briefly. “I’m sorry. Long day. I didn’t mean to snap.”
“It’s perfectly all right. Why don’t we sit on the couch while Keandre gets his things together?”
Asjhone checked on Keandre to make sure he was indeed getting his things and not goofing around then sat next to the pastor on the couch. Questions floated through her head, but she couldn’t voice most of them. Sarid had been her patient, regardless if there was any record of it or not. She couldn’t speak about his health or his possible issues. But if the pastor were to speak about it on his own, well she wouldn’t be breaking confidentiality by listening. “How do you know Sarid?”
“I met him a long time ago.”
“Does he come here often?” She sucked in a breath. What would she do if he said yes? What if he was going to be over tomorrow?
Keandre couldn’t come here again. Latchkey was the only solution. She winced, envisioning the fit her son would throw when he found out.
“I wouldn’t put Keandre in any danger, Asjhone.”
“Oh, I know.” Erika had the day off tomorrow. Would she work a few hours so Asjhone could leave early? Or maybe Teresa? She had the evening shift, maybe she’d arrive early?
“Did you know that during the eighteenth century it was normal practice to dig up graves?”
Or maybe— She shifted in her seat to face the pastor. “What?”
“It was,” he continued. “The Czechs who believed incorrupt bodies were saints, while the Russians believed they were vampires.”
Asjhone barely kept her mouth from falling open. She glanced in the direction of the kitchen.
“I’ve always wondered, maybe they’re both?”
Okay, no stopping the dropped jaw now. After a moment she managed to close her mouth. Licked her dry lips. “When was your last check up, Pastor?”
He patted her hand. “I’m not crazy.”
“Of course not.”
“Did Jesus not say, ‘Whoever believes in me, even when he dies, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.’”
“Well, yes, but that means our soul will live in heaven after we die. Our bodies will be in the ground.”
“Does it?”
Asjhone stared. No, not a good idea for the pastor to watch Keandre again. Even though he had more energy than half the people his age, he was getting up there. Perhaps it was stress? Or psychosis by association?
“Calm, Asjhone.” He placed a hand on her arm.
The pastor seemed at peace. Not fanatic at all. Then she recalled he did and said the same thing to Sarid. She frowned.
“Not everything you see can be taken at face value and everything you hear cannot always be the truth.”
Now she was more confused as ever.
“I’m done, Mom.”
Asjhone stood quickly dislodging the pastor’s hand on her arm. “Let’s make sure you didn’t leave anything behind.”
She followed Keandre into the kitchen. Gave him a piece of crumbled paper
to throw in the garbage, then wiped up a half-dried spill on the table with a washcloth from the sink. “Thank the pastor, Keandre,” she said when they entered the front room.
Keandre threw himself at Pastor’s legs, wrapping his arms around him. “Thank you, Pastor Ken. This was fun. Can I come over tomorrow, too? Will Mr. Sarid be here?”
Panic flared. “I don’t think—” Asjhone began.
“Of course you can.” Ken said at the same time. He paused, spoke while keeping his gaze on Asjhone. “But Mr. Sarid won’t be visiting while you’re here. A couple ladies from the Senior Ministry Group are going to the church to set up for Sunday’s picnic. They need our help.”
“Okay.” Keandre’s enthusiasm was obvious.
“Will you be coming to the picnic?” The pastor asked Asjhone.
“I promised the seniors I’d bring one of the main dishes.” Which she’d forgotten to cancel and now it was too late. They were counting on her. She hesitated when another thought occurred to her. “Is just the congregation going?” Hadn’t the pastor said he was meeting a member today? Did that mean Sarid was a member of First Baptist?
“No, the whole neighborhood. Last year we had a great turnout.”
So even if Sarid wasn’t a member, he’d more than likely show. “Oh, well, that’s great. I’m not sure if we’ll be able to stay for the picnic, but—”
Keandre pulled on her hand. “Please, Mom. Please. Please.”
“Don’t beg, and go use the bathroom before we leave.”
He huffed, dropped his book bag on the floor near her feet, then ran down the hall.
Asjhone waited until the door shut. “Thank you for watching Keandre today, Pastor. I really appreciate it. But I don’t think we’ll need your help tomorrow.”