Demon Night

by Meljean Brook

  “For what purpose?” Castleford asked.

  “To see how many had been released.” Michael stood with his arms crossed over his chest, a huge painting of Caelum forming a backdrop behind him. Charlie didn’t know how he stood so straight and still without appearing uncomfortable, but he managed it. “The nephilim are methodical and powerful—and I began to suspect them responsible for slaughtering the vampires after we visited Washington, D.C. I did not wish it to be true. And yet, given what Ethan has told us, it must be.”

  Michael glanced over at Ethan, and Charlie fought not to shudder. Like Sammael’s eyes had been, Michael’s were all one color, but obsidian—and the only way to judge the direction of his gaze was by the turn of his head. “When I do find their prison,” Michael said, “I will likely need your assistance.”

  Because it would be locked, Charlie realized. But although Ethan agreed, he was frowning. “Why is it that you need to return, if we’ve evidence that they have been released?”

  “There were just over a hundred imprisoned,” Michael said. “And apparently he has allowed more than one to return to Earth. We must know what we are facing.”

  “A hundred?” Lilith shook her head, as if she couldn’t believe it. “A hundred of them brought Lucifer and his armies to their knees? How is it that he dares to release even one?”

  “The Rules must be enforced,” Michael stated. “And I anticipated that Lucifer would release one, so that it could be called to Earth if a demon should break them. It would not need to use a Gate.”

  Ethan’s hand tightened on Charlie’s. “You expected it, but you didn’t warn us?”

  “To be truthful, it was of little importance and—I thought—no danger to us. The nephilim are called, they destroy the demon, and they are called back to Hell. They cannot teleport at will, and they have a purpose that did not interfere with our own.”

  “But that ain’t what happened,” Ethan said. “It didn’t return to Hell after slaying the demon.”

  “No. Lilith is correct—with Lucifer embroiled in his war with Belial, he must have feared the consequences of having the nephilim free in Hell. Which is the second reason I only expected the one.”

  Castleford pushed his hand through his short dark hair. “So they are free on Earth instead? A force that powerful?”

  “Not as powerful,” Michael said. “Not when they are in human form—and they must bind themselves to a human form. Even if he does not call them back to Hell, Lucifer cannot alter that aspect of their nature.” He turned to Ethan again. “And that is where you will find a weakness in them.”

  “Slaying it when it looks human?”

  “Yes. It does not have a nephilim’s strength or speed—it is hardly more powerful than a vampire would be.”

  Ethan’s brows lowered, as if he was working that through. “The human’s dead—for certain?”

  “Yes.”

  “It won’t be difficult to find out who it is, then,” Lilith said dryly. “We just have to compile a list of everyone on Earth who’s died in the past year—all fifty million of them—then go knocking at their doors.”

  The corners of Michael’s mouth lifted slightly. “Unfortunately, possession takes place almost immediately after death, so there might be no more indication than a mild heart attack, or an injury from which the person seems to have miraculously escaped.”

  “Do I have to concern myself that as soon as I kill it, it’ll jump into another dead body?” Ethan asked.

  “No.” Michael looked at each of them, then drew in a short breath. “Being called is nothing more than Lucifer allowing the nephilim to take possession of a human’s essence—the psychic energy—as it crosses the realms, from Earth to Hell. The nephilim sheds its physical form, forces the human essence back through at the point of entry, then returns it to the body.”

  “And the nephilim piggybacks its way in,” Ethan guessed, and when Michael nodded, he asked, “Why isn’t every demon trying to get out that way? Seems to me I’ve heard that angels were spirits of light—beings of energy, who took on a solid form only when they wished.”

  “I have no definite knowledge regarding the angels’ construction—and even if Lucifer allowed demons to possess a human’s essence, they cannot shed their forms in the same way as the nephilim,” Michael said. After a brief hesitation, he added, “I can only speculate that, when demons were cursed and transformed, their psychic energy was bound to flesh. As was the nosferatu’s, although they were bound much closer—and so they cannot shift their shape except to form their wings, and they feel the urges of the flesh: sleep, hunger, and arousal.”

  Bloodlust, Charlie thought. And vampires weren’t much different.

  “But you aren’t certain?” Lilith asked.

  “No. I assume it is so, because when I transform human to Guardian,” Michael explained, “one task I must perform is to bind the psychic energy to flesh with the symbols—but I do not bind it so tightly as it once was. Some of those human physical urges are relieved, some are not—and the will has greater control over form.”

  “Well, hell,” Ethan muttered, laughing softly, and Charlie glanced up at him. “Considering that my will can’t control my form for nothing, I reckon that means I’m spineless.”

  “Stubbornness is as great an impediment to shifting as a weak will,” Michael said with the first real smile Charlie had seen from him. It didn’t last long. “In almost every manner, a Guardian’s strength and powers are similar to a demon’s—but I can find no evidence of symbols within demons or the nosferatu, or any indication of what they’ve been changed from. And that is why I can only speculate; however their transformation was done, it was with an invisible hand.”

  The thought of that made Charlie slightly uneasy, and she was grateful when Ethan said, “Will the nephilim be changing its human shape, then?”

  “No. It will be enough of a struggle to remain in the body it chooses. A nephilim cannot simply animate the flesh; there must be a bond, and it is specific to an individual. And by mimicking the human’s psychic energy—”

  “Like the damn spell,” Ethan said, and when Michael frowned, Ethan must have signed an explanation: his fingers were a blur, and Michael’s smile appeared again.

  “That is well done, both of you,” he murmured, and he looked to Lilith and Castleford. “The symbols’ power is not so easily breached. What did Ethan not mention?”

  “There’s hemorrhaging unlike anything I’ve seen with a Gift—only in novices who’ve lost control of their form,” Castleford said.

  Lilith must have caught Charlie’s confused expression. “Their brains turn to mush,” Lilith explained. “It’s likely that Drifter’s Gift is literally trying to wrap his mind around the power within the symbols—shifting his brain’s makeup so that he can understand it, and get through the lock.”

  Oh, dear God. Charlie thought for a moment that she’d be sick.

  Castleford glanced at Charlie and quickly added, “It heals at a normal rate, however. Charlie seems to suffer no ill effects.”

  “If she did, I wouldn’t be doing it.”

  Michael was nodding, but at that he turned to look at Ethan—or at her, but Charlie couldn’t be certain. But although his face hardened slightly, he only said, “It is the same principle when the nephilim matches the psychic energy to gain entrance into the body. And just as destructive, for when the nephil asserts his own form, it loosens the bonds on the flesh—essentially, the body begins dying again. And as the body dies, the human’s psychic energy attempts to break away from the nephil’s possession. The body heals when the nephil reverts to the human form—but that moment is when the nephil is at its very weakest, for it also must strengthen its hold on the human’s essence again.”

  “I can’t imagine it’ll take its own form often, then,” Ethan said. “Is there any tell that will let us know a body’s housing something else inside it?”

  “No,” Michael said. “Temperature, psychic scent—everything w
ill appear human. And as it must use the human’s body—including the brain—it will have that person’s memory, adopt the same mannerisms, and many of the same thought patterns. There would be differences, but you would have to know the human well to see them.”

  “So I pretty much got to wait until it ain’t hiding in the body, and figure who it turns back to when it’s done.”

  “Yes.”

  Ethan whistled low between his teeth, shaking his head in frustration. “All right, then. I’ll be heading up to Seattle, soon as possible—maybe hope that someone sees it.”

  Seattle. Charlie squeezed Ethan’s hand, lifted her gaze to his. “Do you have the blood that Jane gave you? You said Michael can teleport.”

  “He sure can,” Ethan said, and a small drinking glass from the motel appeared in his opposite hand. He held it out for Michael. “We’re looking for Charlie’s sister.”

  Michael frowned at the glass, and after a moment, looked at Ethan again. “I cannot anchor to her.”

  Which only meant that Jane was probably behind the shield, Charlie told herself. And probably with Sammael. “What about the demon blood she was going to send? Did it arrive today?”

  “I’ve got it,” Jake said, and a small white box appeared in his hand. A wry smile passed over his lips. “I was wondering what it felt like. Drifter was right; it creeps.”

  Lilith gave an exaggerated shudder, and Castleford nodded. “Yes.”

  Charlie took the box from him, tore off the sealing tape. Cold steam curled from inside—a coolant in the packaging, Charlie realized, and then a startled laugh escaped her. Nestled atop the gray cushioning foam was a tiny porcelain unicorn.

  “Definitely from Jane,” she said, and lifted out the first vial. Jane had even labeled it: Samuels, Dylan. Demon.

  “Don’t expect too much, Charlie,” Ethan said softly. “Even if he’s not behind the shield, Sammael has good psychic blocks.”

  He was correct; a moment later, Michael shook his head.

  “I will continue trying, however,” he said. “If you will give me one of those vials.”

  Charlie nodded, then quickly lifted out another to check the label. A yellow sticky was wrapped around it. The packaging pulled it loose, and Ethan picked it up from the floor.

  His lips twitched before he read, “‘Yippee kai yay, motherfucker’?”

  “Oh.” Charlie’s cheeks flared as she held out the vial to Michael. “It’s just a thing from a movie. From when we were kids. For Jane, it’s kind of like—I don’t know—a victory dance or something.”

  The vial vanished from her fingers, and Michael said, “Then you are certain this is Sammael’s blood?”

  “Probably, but”—she removed the stopper from another vial—“I should recognize the smell. I was stuck in a car with it for hours.”

  Oh, God. The scent struck her, incredible, irresistible. She drew it closer, breathed in deep, and she suddenly couldn’t think.

  “Charlie?” Ethan said softly.

  The thirst roared through her. She heard Ethan swear, and Jake’s quick intake of breath. A drop gathered on the bottom of the stopper. She could see her reflection in it, distorted, bulbous. Closer now…too close.

  She brought it to her lips, sucked it off—and dropped the vial in shock.

  “Son of a bitch.” Ethan caught it before it smashed against the floor, then turned to her. “You all right?”

  She stared at him. Swallowed the extra saliva in her mouth—and the lingering flavor of the blood. “I tasted it.”

  His brows snapped together. “You what?”

  A victory dance. “I tasted it,” Charlie repeated, more strongly this time. And Jane had known when she’d sent it; she must have gotten it out of Sammael. “It’s living, just like licking Jake’s blood from the door. No wonder they got those vampires to stay at Legion—they offered them this.”

  “No,” Lilith said, shaking her head. “We’ve tested this before, looking for alternative food sources. The vampires said the demon blood had no flavor.”

  “I have attempted it, as well,” Michael said. “Vampires could not feed from it any longer than they could animal blood.”

  Charlie frowned, then tried another drop, and had to catch her breath against the torrent of sensation and sound. Deep, rich. “It’s there,” she gasped. “And it’s so beautiful…but not. Frightening and dark.”

  She projected it, and Michael’s brows lifted. “That is demon,” he said.

  “Jake,” Ethan said slowly. “You take a vial to Mackenzie, see if he tastes it.”

  Jake grabbed one and ran out; Lilith watched him go, then looked at Michael. “Why would it be different?”

  Castleford had been quiet, frowning thoughtfully as he cleaned his eyeglasses on his shirt. Now, he put them on, and said, “They were dead. All of the demon blood we used, we could only get by first slaying the demon. Sammael still lives.”

  Jake returned, his eyes wide, the vial empty. “I couldn’t keep him from drinking all of it.”

  Lilith sat back a little, her lips parted. She blinked, then looked down at her hellhound, and blinked again. “Well, fuck me,” she said. “Lucifer’s demons don’t know about this. How long have Belial’s known?”

  No one could answer that—and Charlie was thinking of Sammael, and his long-winded explanation in the SUV. “They’re still researching the vampire blood, though,” she said, trying to work her way through it. “They’re promising the vampires a food source like this, but they already have it. Why worry about the rest?”

  Ethan sighed, scrubbed his hand through his hair. “I sure don’t know. Maybe it’s the same concern we talked about last night—not enough of it. But that doesn’t sound right, does it?”

  Charlie had no idea; as far as she could tell, nothing about demons seemed right.

  Uncertainty followed Charlie back upstairs. Ethan walked quietly beside her, and his silence gave her time to formulate all of the reasons she should return to Seattle. When it came time to convince him, hopefully she wouldn’t stumble over her words.

  A few steps away from her door she finally felt as if she’d rehearsed them enough. “Drifter,” she said, “I was just thinking that because you’ve had to keep coming to San Francisco and feeding me, and spending the evenings here—”

  “Just spit it out,” he said softly.

  She stumbled, tried to pick it up again. “Well, with the nephilim threatening the vampires, obviously you need to be in Seattle more—”

  He stopped, turned to her. She couldn’t read his expression. “Spit it out, Charlie.”

  “I want to go back to Seattle with you.”

  “All right,” he said, and pushed through her door.

  She blinked, then headed in after him. Her room was already cleared by the time she shut the door behind her, and she watched him walk into the bathroom to finish it.

  When he returned, his gaze settled on her. “Before we go, we’ve got to get a few things straight.”

  His voice was hard and soft at the same moment; she didn’t know how to interpret it, only knew that it started a trembling low in her belly. “Okay,” she said.

  “Firstly, you ain’t going anywhere alone once we get up there. Not until I kill the nephil—and Sammael, too. But if you need privacy, you feel free to take it. Just tell me you’re heading behind the shielding spell, so I know where you are.”

  She nodded, tilting her head back as he approached her. “All right.”

  “Secondly, we’re going to make ourselves real obvious to everyone in the community, so they know where to come if trouble hits. It won’t do me any good to fly around, hoping I run into the nephil. But if someone sees him, and everyone knows how to find me right quick, I might be able to track him down.”

  “Okay. Can we also mention Jane?”

  His smile made her stomach perform a long, lazy roll. “That was the next part. We’ll keep searching for her, and we won’t be quiet about it. Word travels quick, Charlie. If S
ammael has hidden her away somewhere, eventually someone will hear, and they’ll know where to find us.”

  She sagged back against the door. “Thank you.”

  “Which brings me to the last thing,” he said, bracing his hand beside her head. “You’ve got gratitude down real well, but you had best start complaining more. If something is making you uncomfortable, I can’t do nothing about it unless you tell me what’s bothering you.”

  “But I don’t mind being uncomfort—”

  He leaned in close, his eyes blazing. “I never had such trouble as I do with you, Charlie. I sure as hell mind if you’re uncomfortable—and it ain’t leeching or ungrateful to say you need something different than what I think to give you, especially if it’s something you normally provide yourself. And I can’t figure you half the time, so I reckon half the time I won’t be right. But I won’t know to change it unless you tell me I’ve got it wrong.”

  Her fingers curled on his suspenders so he couldn’t pull away. “But you didn’t get anything wrong. I was the one who brought that impression of prison into it.”

  “Charlie, goddammit—” His lips tightened. His chest rose and fell on a long breath before he said softly, “Knowing what you do of my history, would you ever give me a noose—even if it was made out of gold?”

  “Oh.” She closed her eyes. God, she really was slow sometimes. He hadn’t been insulted, just feeling as ashamed as she had been for unintentionally hurting him. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Just tell me when I’ve lain something on you that I didn’t mean to give.”

  She nodded, pressing her lips together to keep them from wavering. If he asked it of her, she would. “And you will, too?”

  He shook his head. “It ain’t becoming for a man to admit he’s hurting; I’ll just moan a bit, and wait for you to figure out that I’m weak and in need of consoling. And considering I don’t eat or sleep, I reckon the solution to soothing all of my ills will be real simple.”