by Terri Garey
“Can you not find your own ‘opportunities’?” The water in the tub began to bubble and steam, reacting to the force of Samael’s anger. “I created you to breed your own amusements, not wait for them to be handed to you like sweets to children.”
Thamuz bowed his head.
“Tell him everything, carrion eater,” growled Nyx. “Now.”
Sammy cocked an eyebrow, waiting.
“There are rumors,” blurted Thamuz in a rush. “But I would not trouble the Dark Lord’s ears with such nonsense.”
“Go ahead,” the Dark Lord said mildly. “Trouble me.”
The imp seemed to shrink, wrapping its knobby arms around itself. “I myself give it no credence, of course, but there are whispers that you are no longer”—Thamuz closed his bulging eyes and cringed, as though expecting a blow—“quite as committed to the welfare of your people as you once were.”
Sammy looked at Nyx, who shook his head, mutely denying anything to do with such rumors.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Samael snapped at the imp. “Who would dare claim such a thing?”
“Not I, my lord. We heard it through the ethereals—those who roam the skies with Ashtaroth, Demon of Darkness.”
“Did you now?” The water in the tub steamed and bubbled, the only sound in the otherwise deathly quiet chamber. “I’m told that you are the ones inciting the ethereals, and yet you claim it to be their fault. Who shall I believe, I wonder?”
“We didn’t start it, Great Master, I swear!” Thamuz’s voice had risen to a squeak. He kept his eyes on the marbled floor, small body shaking.
A low growl came from Nyx. “There is more, Satanic Majesty. This piece of beetle dung has not told you the half of it.”
In a flash, Thamuz turned and bared sharp teeth toward the tall shadow at his back, hissing like an angry cat. ”Speak,” Samael said sharply. “Or I will let Nyx do as he wills. He likes nothing more than to eat imps like you for breakfast.”
Nyx bared teeth of his own, black and pointed.
Thamuz turned back toward the tub, his flash of anger quickly defused by his craven nature. “It was not our fault, O Great One,” he whined. “The boy is slippery, and hard to control, but we will get him back.”
“Boy?” Sammy cocked an eyebrow, puzzled. “What boy?”
“The boy Selene gave into our keeping,” the imp said, bulbous eyes blinking earnestly. “Your son.”
For a moment there was silence, broken by a harsh laugh. “My son? I have no son, and never will.” All these eons, and no woman he’d ever slept with had ever quickened with new life. A by-product of his once angelic—and therefore sterile—state, he supposed. “And if I did, I would certainly not need you or your kind to keep him safe,” he sneered, angry at the imp’s presumption.
Thamuz’s face, ashen with fear, suffused slightly with color at the insult. “Of course not, Dread Lord,” he said quickly, accepting Sammy’s disdain as his due.
“Where is this boy?” Despite the impossibility of his paternity, Sammy was curious. What manner of child was this, to be used as a pawn in yet another of Selene’s twisted games?
“Alas, my lord.” Thamuz hung his head, voice cracking. “The child escaped his guard . . . we’ve sent trackers to find him, but they’ve yet to return.” Swallowing hard, he hastened to add, “There’s no need to worry . . . the boy is mischievous, and easily bored; it’s just a game to him, a challenge . . . He’s run off before, but we’ve always been able to find him and bring him back.”
“I’m disappointed in you, Thamuz.” Samael leaned back, resting against the cushions the water sprite had dampened. “Your people seem to have grown not only weak, but delusional under your guidance. How could you possibly believe that this troublesome child has anything to do with me? Selene has played you for a fool, as she has so many others. Perhaps it’s time to appoint another lieutenant, one who’s not so gullible, and one who can control the spread of ridiculous rumors.”
The gray head snapped up, bulbous eyes wide. “No, Master, please!” He fell to his knobby knees on the tiled floor, wringing sooty, long-fingered hands. “The lying bitch . . . no wonder you’ve banished her! I’ll call back the trackers and leave the child to his fate, Most Evil Lord.”
“Damn you,” Samael snarled, eyeing the imp balefully. “I care nothing about the child—let me hear no more of him! I care only that storm clouds gather within my realm, fueled by false rumors, spread by your people! I won’t have it, do you hear?”
Thamuz lowered his knobby head to the tiled floor, abasing himself before the tub. “I hear and obey, Satanic Majesty! I will punish those who spread these lies! I will spear them on the tines of my own pitchfork and roast them on a spit! I can control my people, I swear it!”
“There are many of you,” Samael said thoughtfully, his tone all the more dangerous for its softness. “Perhaps too many, each of you willing to gut the other like a fish for the sheer joy of it. Don’t make the mistake of thinking that since I’ve granted you some limited measure of authority, Thamuz, that you’re indispensable.”
The imp lifted his head to look at him fearfully, his pallor intensifying. The dark circles beneath his eyes stood out like bruises.
“You are my creature!” Sammy’s sudden shout echoed loudly throughout the tiled chamber, now thick with steam. “Do not, for an instant, ever think yourself beyond my reach. The fires of Hell are kept stoked those such as you, but I can just as easily cast you into them. Imps burn quite well, I’ve learned, particularly when they’ve been skinned first, inch by inch, with a very blunt blade.”
“I am your creature, my lord,” Thamuz whispered, lowering his eyes in surrender. “These rumors shall become anathema, and my people will find other ways to apply themselves to mischief. Forgive us.”
There was a silence, which Thamuz wisely kept. He quivered with the effort of remaining still, an unnatural state for an imp.
“You must earn my forgiveness,” Sammy said crisply. “Go to Ashtaroth, and bid him come to me. Immediately.”
“Ashtaroth?” The imp’s childish voice broke on the name. “But I have no power over Ashtaroth! The ethereals do as they please.”
“True,” Sammy agreed mildly, “but their quicksilver nature leaves them open to influence, as well you know. Someone’s been whispering lies in Ash’s ears, or the ethereals would not be so restless, nor so foolish as to repeat baseless rumors.” He lifted his head to stare sternly at the imp. “The only darkness allowed to roil within Sheol is the darkness I command. The ethereals are under my domain, and you will remind Ashtaroth of that. Go as my emissary, and bid him come to me and state where his true allegiance lies.”
Thamuz swallowed, his Adam’s apple as knobby as the rest of him. “He is unpredictable, Master,” he whined, “and he is hungry. He will kill me for my insolence, smother me in Darkness . . .”
The Lord High Prince of the Underworld shrugged. “Then so be it. If he kills you for your insolence it will be only what you deserve, and I will send another in your place. And another, and another . . .” He closed his eyes, leaning his head against the wet cushions with a sigh. “There are many of you,” he repeated, “but there is only one of me—do not forget that.”
It was two full hours before the Dread Demon of Darkness, called Ashtaroth, answered his summons.
Sammy was waiting, confident he would not be ignored. He’d chosen his most formal of throne rooms for this audience, the one in the center of his temple, the chamber he fondly liked to call his Unholy of Holies. It was grandiose, overwrought even, with plush red velvet on the walls, and huge Swarovski-crystal chandeliers. Thirty-eight columns of pure gold lined the chamber, all of which reflected the light from the glittering crystals above. His throne, solid gold and pillowed in red, sat on a raised dais, and he lounged at his ease in it, calmly watching as dark billows of fog began to roll in from the far side of the room, like smoke preceding a fire. The fog became a coiling, shifting mass, thickening and wri
thing until its blackness was near absolute. As it thickened, it oozed its way steadily toward the center of the room, where it stopped, as though an invisible wall blocked its progress.
“Mossst High,” came a rasping voice from the center of the Darkness. “We are sssssummoned.”
“Yes, you are,” said Samael, Lord of the Abyss. “And you took your fucking time about it, too.”
The blackness before him roiled and boiled, but came no closer. He stared into it steadily, and soon, like flickers within a flame, twisted faces became visible within it, leering from the darkness to gaze at him curiously before they disappeared, to be replaced by others.
“I understand your people have been spreading rumors about me, Ashtaroth. What have you to say for yourself?”
“There are whissspersss that SSSamael the SSSeducer has himssself been ssseduced,” rasped the Darkness, “by the humansss he once ssswore to dessstroy.”
Sammy’s eyes narrowed, sparks of anger threatening to kindle into flame. “You’ve been listening to Selene, who even now, I assure you, is regretting her weaving of that particular web of lies, and to the imps, who—like the cockroaches they resemble—have the intelligence of insects.”
“We have ssseen thisss for ourssselvesss, when you allowed the human female, Nicki Ssstyxxx, to meddle in our affairsss. Losst sssoulsss belong to the Darknesss, but you have let her guide more than one lossst sssoul into the Light.”
“You dare question me?” Samael asked, in a deceptively quiet tone. He rose, slowly, to stand before his throne. “You think to mount a challenge, demon? Who released you from the chains that bound you beneath the Valley of Gehenna?”
The Darkness didn’t answer.
“Who has kept you alive all these eons, providing you with an endless supply of the broken, the lost, and the damned?”
The faces within the roiling mass of black smoke moved faster now, agitated, as they pressed against and blended with one another, mouths outstretched, eyes wide.
“All those negative feelings of guilt, remorse, and depression, all those hopeless, despairing souls that you need to survive—do you think you have a snowball’s chance in Hell of continuing to get them without me? Who will supply them? There is no one more qualified to sow the seeds of discord among humans than I, he who sowed them first. If I choose to let one or two human souls go free in order to serve my own ends, what is that to you?”
“We are legion,” rasped the Darkness, “and we are hungry. You do not feed usss asss often asss you onccce did.”
“Boo hoo,” Samael mocked, completely unconcerned. “You will eat what I give you to eat, whenever I choose to give it.”
A hissing, moaning sound came from the blackened, swirling mass called Ashtaroth.
“You would still be bound beneath the earth, ravenous and alone, if it were not for me. Do not forget it.”
“True,” rasped Ashtaroth. “But we hunger, both for lossst soulsss, and for proof you have not abandoned usss. If what you sssay is true, then ssset the ssseal on your word through blood sssacrifice, and give usss the child.”
“The child?” Sammy’s eyes narrowed to slits. If Ashtaroth knew of his bargain with Faith McFarland, then he was being watched, which he would never tolerate. “What child?”
“The child who essscaped the impsss, and now hidesss within the Canyonsss of Dessspair. It isss sssaid he isss your ssson, protected and sssheltered amid the ssshadows.”
The Lord of the Abyss laughed, but it was a bitter laugh. “A lie, begun by your dear friend Selene, and spread by the clacking tongues of the imps. The very idea that a child of mine exists is ridiculous, as is the idea that anything could possibly be alive and sheltered within the Canyons of Despair, for it is the abode of the Basilisk.” His smile was thin, and very cold. “If such a child existed, he’s long dead by now. If his soul still wanders within the canyons, you are welcome to it.”
Crossing his arms, he took a step toward the wall of Darkness. “I give you a final word of warning, demon: Be careful of listening to whispers, lest I be tempted to teach you a lesson. I am the only link between your world and that of humankind.” He shook his head, glaring at the entity. “You should know by now that I have no love for mortals. They are foolish, and vain—their ridiculous penchant for virtue must be kept in check, lest it overrun the world like a sickness. I am all that stands between the darkness and the light . . . anger me, and I could easily step aside, let the Lightbringers win.” He shrugged, turning to stroll back to his throne, where he seated himself. “I make no bones about enjoying the warmth of human flesh from time to time—as I did with Nicki Styx—but do not endanger your existence by thinking me weak.”
The Dark boiled before his eyes, seething and twisting. A tinkling of crystal came from the chandeliers above, evidence of the coiled power within the room, and then just as suddenly, stopped. The eddying billows of black, oily smoke began to slow, and quiet, subsiding to ripples, as though the beast within were a chained leviathan beneath the surface of the deep.
“Forgive usss, Infernal Majesssty,” came the rasp of a thousand voices, “we are your ssslavesss.”
Chapter Fourteen
“Go and get dressed, Nathan.”
Faith made her tone as no-nonsense as possible. She turned her son in the direction of his room and gave him a nudge, never taking her eyes from Finn.
Softball? The man was insane.
“What’s the harm?” Finn asked with an innocent grin. “I have some time on my hands today, and I’d love to spend it in the park with you and your son.” Turning to Dina, who was standing by, he said, “I don’t think we were actually introduced earlier.” He put out his hand. “Finn. Finn Payne.”
Dina, clearly aware of undercurrents in the room, shook his hand. “Dina Tate,” she answered cautiously. “I live next door.”
“Nice to meet you, Dina.”
He kept that megawatt smile firmly in place, obviously confident Dina, being female, would prove no match for it, and her increasingly dazzled expression proved him right.
Alarmed at how easily Finn had overcome her friend’s defenses, Faith said loudly, “Thank you so much for returning my wallet, Mr. Payne, but we wouldn’t want to keep you from anything.”
“Mr. Payne?” Finn arched an eyebrow in her direction. “Last night you called me Finn.”
Heat flooded her cheeks. Surely he wasn’t going to reveal her sexual proclivities in front of her son . . .
“In the gift shop at the Ritz, remember?” He was toying with her, and from the gleam in his eye, he was enjoying it. “Where we met. When you lost your wallet.”
Avoiding Dina’s knowing gaze, she concentrated instead on getting rid of him.
“Finn,” she acknowledged stiffly. “Thank you again, but I’m sure you have a lot to do today. Drive carefully on your way back to Atlanta.”
“Let him come with us to the park, Mommy.” Nate tugged at her hand, looking to Finn. “After we play softball, can you teach me how to play the guitar?”
Mortified, she gave Nate another nudge toward his room, more definite this time. “Go and get dressed,” she repeated. “We’ll talk about it later.”
Nathan was a compliant child, and though he made a face, he didn’t argue. “Okay.” Still clutching his stuffed dog, he went toward the hallway. “But softball would be fun . . . I’ll be careful,” he added hopefully, over his shoulder. “I promise.”
Taking her cue, Dina moved toward the door. “I’ll, ah . . . I’ll just head on home, then. You guys work it out and let me know about the park, okay?”
“Thanks.” Faith shot her a grateful look, wishing she could throw her arms around her and beg her to stay, but knowing she needed privacy to deal with Finn.
“Very nice to meet you,” he offered as Dina scooted past.
“Nice to meet you, too.” The look she threw Faith told her there would be plenty of questions later.
“It’s not going to work,” Faith told him flatly, as
soon as the door closed. “You can’t just waltz in here and charm your way into my life—”
“Why not?” he interrupted. “That’s what you did, isn’t it?”
She bit her lip, looking away.
“All I want is the ring, Faith.” He took a step toward her. “Give it to me, and I’ll be gone.”
“Please,” she whispered, turning away. “I don’t want any trouble.” She rubbed the back of her neck, not having to pretend the weariness that made her whole body ache. “I didn’t steal your ring. Please just go away, and leave me alone.”
“You’re dabbling with forces you don’t understand,” he murmured urgently. “I know what you were doing up on the roof. I know all about the pentagram, all about the ritual. You may think that ring is the way to get what you want, but you couldn’t be more wrong.”
“I don’t know anything about the ring,” she denied, shaking her head. She didn’t, really—all she knew was that the Devil wanted it.
“It’s evil,” he said flatly. “It has a spirit attached to it; a spirit you’ll have no way to control.”
“A spirit?” Her mind reeled, but she refused to let it go there. She had to focus, and get Finn out of her house.
And then suddenly, she knew just how to do it.
“You think your ring is possessed?” She tipped her head, eyeing him speculatively. “Just wait until the media hears about that.”
A muscle flexed in his jaw.
“The cops are going to love this story,” she said, hating herself with every word, “and so will the reporters. You show up here like a stalker, claiming I stole a ring that’s possessed by an evil spirit, on the day you get accused of practicing black magic on the roof of the Ritz-Carlton Atlanta. What would the tabloids pay for the inside scoop on that, I wonder?”
There was a silence in which she refused to look away from those piercing green eyes—so angry, so frustrated.
So undeserving of what she was doing to him.