The Deception Dance

by Rita Stradling

  I sigh. What’s to defend, really? I mean, these guys hold me responsible for unleashing Hell on their home… on their entire country.

  My newly repaired lip is halfway chewed through. At least they gave me water, but some bread would be nice. Isn't that the standard fare for the accused?

  Stephen is noticeably absent, just as well, I actually like him and I’m not too excited to have him join in on the hate-Raven-party.

  Unfortunately, as if my thoughts summoned him, Stephen strides through the door just as Tobias shrieks, “So sayith the scripture, Revelation 17:5: ‘And upon her forehead was written, Mystery, Babylon the great, the mother of harlots and abominations of the earth.’ You sit upon the beast and you have nothing to say for ...” but seeing Stephen, Tobias cuts off his rant abruptly (which was pretty much nonsense to me) and he freezes in his half-raised position.

  Stephen looks furious, his mouth is half-open in a speechless outrage I could have never imagined on his kind, scarred face.

  I brace myself for his attack, for some reason, this one will probably hurt most.

  “Never have I been more disgusted,” he says, through clenched teeth.

  I flinch, tightening the embrace I’m already holding around my stomach.

  “You.” I look up to see his pointing finger, but it's not pointing at me, he directs it into Nicholas’s face. “You deliberately kept this from me. This abuse. This injustice. This waste of valuable time!”

  Albert stands up with a mirrored expression of outrage.

  Stephen silences whatever Albert was about to shout by yelling, “Do not defend your abuse, Albert, Madeline told me what you tried to do, you ...” he seems at a loss for words for a moment, “…you hypocrite!”

  I close my eyes, and feel Stephen’s arm wrap around my shoulders while his other hand pulls out my chair. He’s gentle for one so enraged. “Come with me, Raven, you don’t need to listen to these wankers.”

  I follow him, letting him support my shaky stride. When we are out of the room, down the stairs, out the door, and on the patio, I rasp, “Thank you.”

  He only shakes his head.

  I look over to where a long line of people wait for a (probably cold now) lunch buffet on the patio. The line leads off the patio and farther curves behind the hedge wall of the gardens. All along the line and stationed everywhere are armed guards. Four stand directly behind us at the entrance to the main house.

  The most spectacular change to the castle grounds is the lines of houses. From the helicopter that flew us in, and landed on a helicopter-pad on top of the garage, the houses looked like evenly spaced large boxes. It took me a minute to figure out where they got all the lumber, but then I remembered the church stacked high with wood for reconstruction. From this view the houses look like small forts made from five solid panels nailed together. There are so many of them, lining up in every direction. No wonder they accidentally let soul-bound in here, there are probably thousands of displaced survivors.

  I was told that the guest house was converted into a small hospital.

  “Don’t worry,” Stephen says as we step into the back kitchen, which is completely filled with blue crates overflowing with medical supplies. “There are no people with the infection the ravens are spreading here. And we hope no soul-bound are in here, after the two breaches we did a full search of every person within the compound. From what Nicholas tells me about last night, my guess is they were offered a new deal after your… awakening: your death for their soul. Keep vigilant and check every wrist ...”

  “Stephen,” Someone calls from behind. When I turn to look, I see Nicholas waiting just outside.

  "You do not want to hear what I have to say to you right now, brother," Stephen says.

  "Please," Nicholas says.

  "I'll meet you in your room in two minutes. Can you make it there?" Stephen asks.

  “Sure.” I walk forward lightly running my hand along the wall in case I need support. I don’t want to be anywhere near Nicholas. The hallways are bustling with women and men rushing by. Everywhere I look blue crates stack in evenly spaced lines, some open, most closed. The place still smells like pine though, no hospital smell.

  They, for some reason, kept my room unoccupied. Linnie and my clothes are still hanging in the closets. It’s just as I left it, twenty-seven days ago. The walk has made my stride go from unsteady to full-out stumbling, so falling onto the bed is easy.

  I press my face into my pillow. If I could, I would disappear into my pillow, climb inside and live in a cloud of feathers, forever.

  I knew that Andras would have a reaction to losing me, I knew. But I didn’t realize (couldn’t have even imagined) this would happen. How many soul-bound are there, now? How many people’s souls does Andras think he needs to buy to bring me back? How long will it take to show Andras that I am alive? When he sees the video, he’ll know. Those runners will find him and show him, and then this will end. He said no more souls while my heart beats, so once he knows, he’ll stop...he has to, he can’t lie.

  And… then what? What kind of person would I be if I go to him? What will he do, if I refuse to?

  I squeeze my eyes shut. I will not think of his eyes, his touch, I will not...

  "Are you crying?" A hand lightly touches my back between my shoulder blades.

  I turn my head on my pillow to face Stephen. "No."

  Stephen sits, perched on the edge of my bed. He keeps his hand on my back while he says, "My brother's are wrong in what they said to you, what they accused you of. They are too emotionally involved in this, to see clearly. Their anger is clouding them and they don't see the truth."

  He brushes my hair out of my face and tucks it behind my ear.

  "What is the truth?” I ask.

  "That you were deceived."

  I almost laugh. He gives me too much credit. I gaze up to meet his eyes, and then look down. The words are hard to say, but I say them, "No, Stephen, I wasn't. I knew when I went to him, knew that he's a demon."

  "Why did you go to him?"

  I cover the half of my face that's showing. "I don't know," I say, through my fingers.

  "Because you loved him?"

  "I don't know," I repeat.

  "You did, you know. Maybe not this time around but you did once. Did you think Andras loved you?" He asks.

  I cup my hand under my face and whisper, "Yes."

  "Raven," Stephen pauses to inhale deeply, "Demons understand obsession, lust, possession, infatuation, even passion; but love isn't even a word in their vocabulary."

  I close my eyes.

  "How did he find you? How did he approach you? Nicholas's mission in Italy was to prevent you two meeting; Nicholas managed at the hotel, in the piazza and at the restaurant, but somehow Andras got to you. How?"

  I keep my eyes securely shut. "I went to a club with Chauncey and Nicholas in Rome. I was drugged ...”

  "Nicholas told me Chauncey drugged you."

  "Yeah."

  "Did she admit to doing this?" he asks.

  "No." I open my eyes to glance at him. "She denied it."

  "What proof did you have?"

  "She told Linnie that she did something she really regretted that night," I say.

  "Could it have been selling her soul?" his tone isn't condescending, but I still feel as if I was slapped upside the head.

  I pause until I recall another detail, “She also looked at me when you accused her of having a knack for ‘adding ingredients’."

  Stephen stares at a spot above my head.

  But the memories click into place and I recall, "She told me that she had the bartender add different alcohols to make my shot strong and nasty, though. But what happened wasn't just from alcohol; I know I was drugged. Andras even said I was, and he can't lie."

  Stephen nods. "I agree, you were definitely drugged. But, what if we assume that Chauncey told the truth and wasn't the one who drugged you? Let's continue reviewing that night. What happened next?"


  "Chauncey left and Nicholas chased after her."

  "Or, Chauncey was lured away by demons in plain view of Nicholas. And Nicholas, being the hero that he is, chased after her to stop her from selling her soul."

  Stephen’s hand pulls away as I sit up and stare at him.

  I continue, "I fell asleep; when I woke up a man had his arm around me. He dragged me out of the club and down alley, after alley."

  "Far away from the club, far away from Nicholas," he interjects.

  "The man attacked me."

  "With what?"

  "A knife." I narrow my eyes then shake my head. "No, a talon. He grew claws and attacked my shoulder."

  "Then he wasn’t a man, he was a demon."

  I slink back into the bed, wishing that pillow-feather-land did exist and that it would swallow me whole. I close my eyes as I say, "Andras saved me…"

  "…and gained your trust." Stephen pauses then speaks slowly, "Raven, do you know who is in charge of all the demons who have escaped from Hell?"

  I nod, unable to say his name out loud. I keep my eyes closed. “So he ...”

  “He probably did not actually tamper with your shot, but it was under his orders. Most likely it was done by the demon who dragged you outside."

  My voice sounds a little desperate when I say, "but Andras is the one who told me, Stephen; he's the one who told me I was drugged."

  "And who did you suspect? He had just saved your life, probably gave you something to counteract or dull the drugs...”

  "A drink," I confirm.

  "The only two people who had access to your food and drinks were Chauncey and Nicholas."

  "And I assumed Chauncey did it."

  "Which was probably not who you were supposed to suspect. What Andras wanted more than anything was to keep you from us, to keep you out of Leijonskjöld Slot." Stephen pats my shoulder and sighs. "What you have to understand is: for a demon, the way they go about getting what they want doesn't matter to them, as long as they get what they want in the end. Remember that. The first rule to understanding demons is: to them, the means are inconsequential, only the ends matter.”

  He pauses for a long moment, and then continues, “The result of the night was: you were alone with Andras, healed, trusting him and mistrusting your companions. So, in his eyes, it didn't matter that you were attacked and tortured, everything was successful." His hand touches my shoulder. “So tell me, Raven, was that an act of love?”

  I stare at the wall for a few (century-long) seconds, and then turn my gaze on him. "Stephen, what was the point? If he doesn't love me, why would he do all that? Why is he doing all this?"

  The unscarred side of his lips pulls up into a sad little smile. "Because, you loved him. He might not be able to love, or even say the word, but he knows what it feels like to be loved, because of you. You’re probably the only being in the history of Andras’s existence as a demon, who has ever loved him. Many fear him, some revere or worship him, but never love."

  "You mean I’m the only being, in the history of his existence, that idiotic."

  Stephen cups his hand under my chin and lifts my face so I’m looking into his blue eyes.

  "No Raven, you're wonderful,” he says.

  For the first time I realize that Stephen is a boy and I am a girl, and we are on my bed; and, since he sat down, he’s kept some sort of physical contact with me. But… he’s just a physical guy and it doesn’t mean anything, except comfort (which I need).

  As if Stephen can hear my thoughts, he pulls his hand away, and says, “Intelligent people are deceived everyday; and as far as deception goes, Andras is a prince among beasts. He is the ‘sower of discord,’ that is his purpose on earth.” He absently traces a finger across his scar. "Nicholas is faster than me and more agile, Tobias is far more intelligent and Albert could squash me with one hammer stroke; but, I have always been, and will always be, the best demon killer. For someone like me, not bookish or brutish or quick, I had to learn to dance their dance, the demon dance, and that is what has kept me alive."

  He sighs, “My brothers are limited by how they judge the world; people who sell their souls are worthless in their eyes, not to be pitied or felt compassion for. Demons are to be killed, but never studied or understood. They would never condescend to think like a demon, to understand their motivations, to play their games.

  “My brothers will not face that there is more than righteousness and evil in this world, decent people often do terrible things and even demons can seek love.” He smiles, “I think, they just don't want to see their own weakness, and susceptibility."

  My voice sounds pitiful, "Nicholas hates me now, doesn't he?"

  "You did the one thing he couldn't forgive...”

  "…he thinks, I slept with Andras," I finish.

  He squeezes my shoulder. "No. You killed yourself. Do you know that we only found out two days ago that they were raising you? You were dead to us… to him, for nearly four weeks." Stephen shakes his head, "But, don't feel too sorry for him, he’s not the innocent martyr he’d have you believe he is. He deceived you, too."

  "How?" I ask.

  "He could have walked straight up to you as soon as you got off your plane and told you the truth."

  I raise my head to look at Stephen. "I would have thought he was insane."

  "Perhaps." He shrugs. "He could have told you some variation of the truth that left out all the demonic matter. If he had warned you outright, Nicholas would likely have lost any chance with you. But when Andras had you kidnapped, you would have been prepared and wary."

  "Wasn't Nicholas ordered to bring me here?"

  "We all knew what my ancestor’s commands were really about, and Nicholas rarely obeys his orders. No, he hid the truth from you so you would give him a chance. Nicholas is obsessed with beating Andras, always has been; It was his plan, his solution even before he met you, to make you fall in love with him instead."

  You have got to be kidding me!

  Something fights to get out of me, perhaps a laugh or possibly a sob, but I choke it back. So, what Stephen is saying is that not only does Andras not love me, Nicholas was just using me as a means to defeat Andras. And here I thought I was oh, so, special.

  Stephen must read my thoughts from my expression, because he hastily corrects, "Wait, that did not come out the way I meant. See, what you have to understand is while other children were brought up on stories about fairies, trolls, princesses, princes, our Grandfather was telling us stories about you, Andras and all the demons. We were all half in love with you before you were even born, swearing that we would be the one to save you from Andras, the greatest evil. Nicholas just never grew up.

  “Andras and Nicholas treated you like a prize or a pawn, but never like a player in their games; they didn’t trust you to know the facts and choose for yourself. And now, my brothers blame you for not making the right choices.” He shakes his head, disgust plain on his face. “They’re just mad that you didn’t make the choices they told you to make, blindly. If they had prepared you from the first, given you training and the truth rather than concealing it, then who knows how this would have turned out; but I bet you would have chosen differently."

  I turn over, sit up and curl into a ball. “I hope so, but I’m not sure about anything anymore.”

  What was it I said to Nicholas? Something like, ‘I can usually see people’s ulterior motives’; did I actually say that? What a joke. I can’t help it, I laugh.

  My laughter seems to startle Stephen; he gazes down at me while his eyebrows hike up his forehead.

  “I just... thought… I was so perceptive. But, I got everyone wrong, everyone, your grandfather, Chauncey, Nicholas, Andras, even Albert ...” I pause to shake my head, “Well, I’m still not sure about Albert. I’m about as discerning as those birds that fly into the sliding glass doors.”

  Stephen doesn’t laugh, maybe it’s not funny. He gives my shoulder a squeeze, takes my hand and stands up. “Come with me.”
>
  I glance up. “What are we doing?”

  “What we should have done to begin with, making you a player in all this, and, with luck, recruiting you to the team.”

  I resist his tug on my hand. “I don’t think the other team members want me.”

  “Ah,” he says, winking, “But they need me, and unless you’re in, I’m out.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Day Fifty-Six (continued)

  “There are many things I need to tell you; but first, is there anything specific you what to know?” Stephen says as we wander our way out of the guest house. I have my arm hooked in his for support, and boy do I need it.

  “Everything,” I mutter.

  “Well, unfortunately we only have time for the ‘quick and dirty version,’ as you Americans put it. What do you want to know, most?”

  I swallow, and try to jumpstart my brain to brainstorm a question. I should have a ton, but between learning about Andras, dying and being brought back to life I haven’t had time to think. I’m positive there are so many things I need to know about this new world. Well, new isn't the right word, this world I’ve always been bumbling around in, unaware. I clear my throat. “So ‘security’ is really killing demons?”

  He grins. “Yes, the best job in the world.”

  “So what do you do, precisely?” I furrow my brow. “You do... Exorcisms?”

  He shakes his head. “No, priests do exorcisms. Exorcisms are done on a person whose soul cohabitates a body with a demon. My family only combats demons, or the soul-bound and humans with a demon infection that have allied with the demons.”

  “So the last time I saw Chauncey...”

  “Her body had no soul.” He stops in the parking lot and we lean against a large green truck.

  Compared with the rest of the estate, the parking lot is deserted of people. Only two guards each on the guest house, the main house and the men’s club occupy the car packed lot, and all the men are pointedly looking away.

  “When a person sells their soul, or more accurately trades it, they make a deal that a few seconds before their death their soul will be forced out of their body and sent to Hell. In the few seconds between the soul’s extraction and the body’s death a demon can occupy a soulless body, heal and puppet it. We call these demons: ‘puppeteers’.”