Never Save a Demon

by J. . D. Brown

  The fact that Sam wasn’t dead yet was proof that someone above the Duke called the shots. But how soon before Dantalion gave into temptation and went rogue?

  How soon before the man above him did?

  Sam could only assume it was Lucifer. The Commander knew of his dislike for the Duke and was making it personal.

  “Can I help you?”

  Sam had gone a few feet into the store without noticing his surroundings. He faced a wall and stood there like a dunce, lost in thought. He glanced in the direction of the clerk and read the man’s sins. He grinned, pleased by what he found. “Yes, thank you. Is this the North Paradise Sword Shop?”

  “It sure is. Owen North at your service.”

  “Slow night?”

  North looked around the shop with a chuckle. “We’re a niche market.”

  Sam already knew the store was empty. They were the only two things that moved.

  North cleared his throat. “So what can I do for you, my man?”

  “I’m looking for a birthday gift. She prefers katana.”

  “Daughter?” An awful lust flourished inside the clerk.

  Sam’s grin widened. You have no idea. “Just a friend. Too old for your tastes.”

  “Hmm?”

  “She’s a black belt martial artist,” Sam continued. “So she’ll know if you rip me off.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” North chuckled. “Follow me.”

  Sam trailed behind the store owner. While the man talked about steel quality and blade length, Sam dropped his human guise and flexed his demonic muscles.

  Sam walked through another portal with a shiny new sword in hand. He wiped the blood from his chin and tried not to think of little girls. The sun had gone, leaving the streetlamps and neon bar signs to light the cracked asphalt in the alley where he last saw Azrael. He doubted his successor wished to meet with him again, but Sam was desperate.

  He lifted his right hand and pressed gently against the veil of this world. Not enough to tear it open—just enough to feel the gossamer-like tissue beneath his fingertips. Using his index finger, he drew the seal of the Reaper and then pressed his call into the ether. Sam lowered his hand and took a step back. All he could do now was to wait for an answer.

  The air at his back chilled and Sam shivered. Darkness crept in with the cold and the streetlights flickered. His throat filled with the icy chill and his breath puffed in tiny white clouds. He was not alone, and it was not an angel who shared the shadows with him.

  Sam searched his surroundings. He saw nothing, but the overbearing scent of rotten flesh gave him a clue. A low growl rumbled in his throat. “Dantalion.”

  The demon stepped from the shadows like smoke separating from ink. The Duke wore no disguise. His scaly, emaciated figure had small studded horns protruding from every angular joint in his disfigured body. Scarlet eyes seemed to laugh at Sam more than the Duke’s mangled voice could manage.

  “The Commander tires of your games, Samael.” The demon’s mouth did not move. Instead, the wind seemed to whisper for him; a raspy sound that came from all directions at once.

  Sam clenched his fists and stood his ground. The Commander. Lucifer. So he was right—good ole Luc was making it personal. What a surprise.

  Sam meant to say something to defend himself, but Dantalion withdrew into a gust of black dust and disappeared. “Your angel comes.”

  “Wait.” Sam took a step in the Duke’s direction but stopped as the streetlights brightened and his ears popped. Sam flinched at the sudden changed in pressure, then glanced over his shoulder at the glimmering ashen beauty of the Angel of Death.

  Azrael’s gaze narrowed as he looked past Sam and studied the shadows. They were less bleak now, all evidence of the Duke gone.

  “Is this a trap?”

  “A warning,” said Sam. “Though I don’t believe you were meant to hear it.”

  “I suppose this is why you called.”

  “I didn’t know he would be here, but yes. That was Dantalion, the Duke of Knowledge. Lucifer sent him. He’s already killed five women who look like Lyn, and there is no way to defeat him. His specialty is suicide. He’ll kill the Daughter without ever laying a finger on her, just as he did the others. Lucifer is restraining him for now, but I don’t know how long we have before his patience thins. Tell me Yahweh will do something.”

  Azrael looked at Sam, but the angel’s expression was scathing in its indifference. “I spoke to Him.”

  “And?”

  “There is nothing to be done about the binding. I am sorry.”

  Sam tightened his fists. The katana’s handle bit into his right palm. In the other, his fingernails drew blood. The Hellfire singed his fingertips.

  “He will save Lyn,” said Sam. “Won’t He?”

  Azrael shook his head. “We do not interfere with the natural order of things. You know that.”

  “Not even for your precious Gate?” Sam growled. “Lyn’s great-grandmother is possessed. She’s dying. Lyn is the last Daughter. Hell wins after that.”

  The angel scoffed. “You have so little faith in our side you believe the demons win simply by opening the Gate?”

  “I don’t care who wins, I care about staying alive. I can’t believe He hates me so much He’d let the Daughters end.”

  “Do you hear yourself?” Azrael spread his wings and his chest came alive with the glow of Heavenly fire. His veins burned so brightly, the ashes dusting his skin turned red hot. Sam had never seen his pupil angry before. It was glorious. “Your selfishness is your downfall, Samael. You care nothing for her. You are bad for her. You’re bad for us all. The angels weep the loss of the Daughters, but we will defend our kingdom without them.”

  “And you’ll do it all just to be rid of me.”

  Azrael beat his wings with a curt laugh. “Do not call on me again. I will not answer.”

  “Wait. Please, forgive me, I’m just …”

  “Despicable?”

  I was going to say frustrated. Sam lowered his gaze and pulled the katana from its sheath. “It’s a gift,” he explained. “Lyn’s birthday is tomorrow and … I’m asking you … begging you … to imbue the blade with Heavenly fire.” Sam knelt before the angel and lifted the sword in offering. “Please, Azrael. At least give me a chance.”

  The Reaper furrowed his brow. “Do it yourself.”

  Sam cursed, but his words were drowned out by the gust of wind kicked up by the angel’s wings. Sam shut his eyes to the debris as his clothes rippled against him. His ears popped, and the wind died down.

  Sam opened his eyes. Despite the heat and humidity settling over his skin, the earth seemed a colder place with his only friend gone. His blindness to this realm had been a mild annoyance since he arrived, but only now did it truly feel like a handicap.

  Sam was alone.

  And Lucifer was coming.

  12

  Believe It or Not,

  I Don’t Actually Have a Death Wish.

  L yn woke to a dull ache in her shoulders and a slight sting in her wrists. She tugged one arm and found that she couldn’t move because her hands were still tied to the bedposts. Her brain jumped to alert-mode faster than any shot of espresso had ever managed.

  Crap, when did I fall asleep? The last thing she remembered was practically breaking her wrists to free herself.

  She twisted to the side, testing the bindings. Searing pain shot from under the bases of her palms as the movement rubbed the raw skin and made her eyes water. She tried to think of what to do next when her right butt-cheek vibrated. Lyn jerked as she realized her cell phone was still in her pocket.

  Angie! Or at least she assumed it was her best friend. Who else could it be? Didn’t matter. Lyn needed to free her hands so she could call Angie back and warn her to stay away. Otherwise, she would eventually come looking for her, and then they’d both be demon food.

  Plus, Lyn needed to pee. Like really bad.

  “Sam! Are you out there? I have to pee. I
really don’t want to wet the bed, but I will!” She waited for a response. For the floor to creak under his weight. For any sign at all that he was in the apartment. She heard nothing. “God damn it, Sam!”

  Okay, plan B.

  Lyn shrugged down as low as she could go, until her head was below the pillows and her back laid flat against the mattress. She swung her legs over her head, lifting her hips and lower back, folding herself in half as though she were about to perform some odd power crunches. Bending both knees to her chest, she kicked her heels against the headboard as hard she could. She kicked twice more before the wood cracked.

  Bingo. A few more kicks and the board will break down the middle.

  She drew a breath, tucked her knees in to aim, and …

  “Is that necessary?”

  Lyn glanced at Sam from under her legs. The demon stood in her bedroom doorway, groggy-eyed as he scratched his head and then dragged his fingers lazily across his chest.

  She unfolded herself and lowered her legs. “Where have you been?”

  Sam blinked in the direction of the living room. “Asleep.”

  “Well, I have to pee. And shower. Oh, and eat at some point.” Those seem like reasonable demands, right? She had to buy herself some time to figure a way out of this.

  Sam yawned and then nodded. “All right.”

  He crossed the room, leaned over her, and untied her left hand. His T-shirt hung loosely on him and the soft cotton draped close to her face. It smelled like fire and brimstone, but also like soap and the sexy musk of man. Lyn bit her lip as he lifted away to untie her right hand.

  “Don’t try to run,” he murmured.

  Lyn looked to the side and pressed her teeth a little deeper into her lip. You promised to let me go, she wanted to say, but she thought better of it and kept quiet. For now.

  When both wrists were free, she sat upright and rubbed the raw skin. It stung, and she sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth.

  Sam massaged his own wrists in turn, and she noticed the matching red welts.

  “You get in a fight with a pair of handcuffs or something?”

  “What?”

  Lyn nodded at his arms. “Your battle wounds. They almost look as bad as mine.”

  Sam shoved his hands into the pockets of his pajama pants. “You were going to the bathroom?”

  “Right.” She stood and went to into the hall.

  Sam followed. He stood opposite the bathroom door with his back to the wall and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Seriously? You’re going to guard the door while I pee?”

  “Yep.”

  “Can you at least start the coffee? I’m still allowed coffee, right?”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Her lips thinned as she stepped into the bathroom and slammed the door shut. Ugh! God! He was so … How could he keep coffee from her? That was worse than destroying Johnny. She was so mad at him, she couldn’t think.

  Lyn relieved herself, then started the shower and stripped. She didn’t get in right away since she was stalling for time before Sam tied her to the bed again. Would he tie her to the bed again? She had cracked the headboard. Probably he would tie her to something else now. The furnace, maybe.

  She stepped into the single-person tub, shivering under the quick shock of water, and tugged the curtain across the rod. The heat felt good over her aching shoulders but stung as it came in contact with her wrists. Lyn flinched at the pain and something inside her snapped. All her pent-up anger and loss hit her at once. Tears rolled down her cheeks en masse and wouldn’t stop. She was so stupid, crossing the line with Sam, and now he held her prisoner in her own home. What did she think would happen? She was supposed to be smarter, stronger. But Sam and Angie were both right; Lyn didn’t know what she was doing. She didn’t have the training her ancestors had. She didn’t even have a fraction of the knowledge Lolly had at her age.

  And Gran was dying.

  Angie was right about that, too. They had only ever performed the exorcism ritual once before, and it had been a disaster. Her mother had died. Lyn had no reason at all to think she would be any more successful with Gran. Plus, Gran was ninety-two years old. Even if she was perfectly healthy, how much longer could she possibly have?

  It hurt so much knowing her great-grandmother wasn’t long for this world. It hurt more than when her mother died, more than when the rest of her family was murdered. Lyn had been a helpless child then, but she was an adult now. She was supposed to take care of her Gran, or at least keep her safe from demons. But no, Lyn couldn’t even do that right. She couldn’t even be a good Daughter of Eve and defend her great-grandmother from the one thing Gran had spent her entire life hunting. Satan would have the last laugh over Beatrice Rose, and it was all Lyn’s fault.

  Lyn hugged herself and sobbed against the cold tiles until her chest hurt. The worst part was, even if Gran had been too old to train her, at least Lyn had someone to talk to about the curse. Someone who understood. Once Gran was gone, Lyn would be utterly alone.

  Emptiness filled her as she slid to the floor of the tub and shivered.

  As the water cooled, she realized she wasn’t crying anymore; just sniffling and miserable. She washed the tears and snot from her face, waited a beat to make sure she could breathe without falling apart again, and then turned off the water. She opened the curtain to find Sam sitting on the toilet lid.

  “What the Hell?” Lyn grabbed the curtain and wrapped as much of it as she could around herself without pulling the rod from the walls. Despite the lingering steam, she was soaking wet and shaking while glaring daggers at the damn demon in her bathroom.

  Sam still wore his crumpled slept-in T-shirt and pajama bottoms, his hair a mess of white and silver filaments. He sat deathly still, staring at the wall in front of him, with a very long sword in his lap. Lyn swallowed her nerves.

  “Uh, Sam?”

  He didn’t even blink as he spoke, his tone flat. “This is for you. It’s a gift. Happy birthday.” He held the shaft in one hand and extended the handle in her direction.

  “Er, okay. Mind if I grab a towel first?”

  He looked at her unseeingly and blinked. Lyn had that odd double vision issue again. The all-consuming depths of his dark demon eyes were big and bright, like he could see everything; the entire universe and every speck of stardust in it. But his human eyes, cloudy and dull, seemed to struggle to comprehend what was right in front of him. It made him look vulnerable.

  “Sam?” she whispered, clutching the flimsy curtain.

  Sam’s gaze went to the sword. “It’s not done. I wanted to re-enforce the blade, but … here.”

  Lyn didn’t know what else to do, so she grabbed the handle and pulled the katana from its sheath. Her breath hitched. It was a beautiful, expertly crafted Uchigatana blade; well-balanced and lightweight. Way more expensive than Johnny. She didn’t even know what he meant about re-enforcing the blade; the glimmering steel looked like it could slice through iron.

  “Thank you.”

  “You hate it.”

  Lyn snorted. “No, I love it actually. It’s just …”

  “Not enough?” Sam laid the sheath on the sink counter.

  Lyn pulled her lips between her teeth. She waved the katana through the air a bit, testing it. Damn, it was nice. She felt powerful just holding it in her hand; stronger. But unease grew in the pit of her stomach. What game was he playing? First he tied her down like a prisoner of war, then he bought her a birthday present? Sam was right, it wasn’t enough. She didn’t trust him.

  “Stop holding me prisoner,” she suggested. “And I’ll forget I spent the night tied to my own bed.”

  Sam shook his head. He grabbed a towel off the rack and handed it to her. Lyn pinched the towel between the hilt of the sword and her thumb, not wanting to sacrifice neither katana nor shower curtain. Maybe he couldn’t see her clearly, but she wasn’t about to chance it when she was butt-naked.

  “Thanks.” Lyn
drew the curtain and wrapped herself in the towel before drawing it open again.

  Sam stood in the middle of the bathroom facing her, though he looked a little less hopeless and a lot less scary. Of course, that might have been because she had a weapon in her hand. Maybe she couldn’t kill Sam, but she could settle for chopping off a limb or knocking him unconscious with the pommel.

  “I saw Dantalion last night.”

  Lyn stepped out of the tub and furrowed her brow. “No shit? Where?”

  “A few blocks from here.”

  Whoa, that was closer than she expected. A small jolt of nerves thickened her throat and she struggled to swallow. The Duke was one more thing Lyn felt pathetic about. Why couldn’t the stupid suicides perp have been a nice human serial killer? It was just her luck that a literal Duke of Hell demon was hunting her.

  Sam grimaced. “Lyn, I need you to hear me on this. Dantalion can control the thoughts of mortals. That’s why those women killed themselves. You know that. So you have to know he can do the same to you. I’m not keeping you tied up for my own entertainment; I’m doing it to keep you safe. I don’t exist without you. Do you understand?”

  Lyn’s sword hand tensed, an automatic reaction to poise for a fight when she felt threatened. “Sam … I get it. Really. But I can’t just stay locked up in here, either.”

  He watched the sword in that precise way that made her question his blindness. His brow pinched over his steely blue eyes. “The Duke wants us dead. I want us alive. Yet you fear me more than you fear him.”

  “I fear all demons,” said Lyn. “It’s not personal.”

  Sam scoffed. “And I fear nothing. Not even that blade.”

  Lyn lowered her gaze. She was trying to keep a cool head about this. What would Gran do in this situation? “How about a compromise? Other people will come looking for me eventually—my boss, Mr. Emerson, Angie. If the Duke is keeping tabs, he’ll know we’re hiding and could set a trap right on my doorstep. But if I keep going about my business, maybe Dantalion will think I’m clueless about him. Maybe he’ll let his guard down. I mean, he has to show himself again eventually, right? When he does, you’ll be with me. From now on, you are my personal bodyguard. Deal?”