by Allie Gail
I suck in a gasp, and behind me I hear, “Are you convinced now?”
Russ waves a hand in the air theatrically. “Judith Sterling, meet Locryn Price. A genuine, authentic cambion...or if you ask me, more of a demon mongrel bastard.”
To my amazement, the man's lips quirk up in a smile. I gape at him, speechless and shocked, because you'd never know he just took a brutal beating. He's just sitting there, looking rather disinterested, as if he didn't have a care in the world. As if the whole thing never happened.
Max releases my arm.
“That's the problem with these fuckers,” Russ complains. “You can't kill 'em.”
I stare at him, this enchanting man who isn't a man at all, this dark-haired devil with eyes like the sky. He is watching me with the same vaguely amused expression as before, as if what just happened was little more than a minor inconvenience.
With some reluctance, I tear my gaze away from his. “If he's that powerful, why can't he just break those restraints and escape?”
“Look up.”
My eyes raise to the ceiling overhead. Painted on the drywall in black is the image of a scorpion within a circle of strange symbols I can't identify. How did I not notice that before? It looks almost astrological, in a way. Or like some voodoo hex stuff you'd see on late night TV.
“Who's the artist?” I ask, trying to be flippant even though my pulse is pounding in my ears.
“That would be me,” Max says.
“That's not half bad.”
“Two years of Visual Arts and Acrylic Painting classes.”
“Oka-ay...but what is it supposed to be, exactly?”
“The Fifth Pentacle of Mars.”
I turn my head to gaze at him blankly. How do the planets figure into this? Maybe I was right, maybe it has some astrological symbolism, after all.
“It's Hebrew. 'Thou shalt go upon the lion and adder, the young lion and the dragon shalt thou tread under thy feet.'”
“Great. But I have no idea what that's supposed to mean.”
“It means this asshole has no choice but to submit to my will,” Russ clarifies with a note of triumph.
I can't help but point out the obvious. “Forgive me if I'm wrong here, but it doesn't look to me like he's submitting to anything.”
“He's stronger than I expected.” Slamming both hands on the table, Russ leans in until his face is mere inches from Locryn's. “But I'm stronger.”
The demon regards him with a distinctly bored expression.
“We mixed iron flecks in the paint,” Max adds, as if I'm supposed to understand the significance of that. “To add a little extra insurance.”
“Iron?”
“It's supposed to drain their energy.”
I sense that the demon is once again focused on me, and my eyes are irresistibly drawn back to him. I was right. He is observing me intently, with a curiosity that is unnerving. I feel like a lab animal being examined by a scientist.
How odd is that, when I'm not the one who is the captive here.
I can't resist the urge to bait the wolf. “Do you really know where Skylar and Owen are?”
Russ instantly shoots me a look that I'm very familiar with. It's the same one he used when we were kids and I was deliberately defying him. “Rule number one! What did I say, Judith?”
“You guys already tried it your way. Tell me, how well has that worked out for you?”
When neither of them supplies an answer, I continue with my interrogation. I try to keep my voice non-confrontational. Civilized. I figure you're a lot more likely to catch flies with honey than multiple face punches.
“Please. I know you have no reason to believe me, but I'm trying to help you here. If you don't know where they are, then just tell me. I don't want to see anyone get hurt. Not them, not you. Tell you what – consider me your sanctuary city, okay? Neutral. An impartial observer. Whatever you have to say, I'll listen with an open mind.”
He cocks his head to one side, appraising me silently.
“You're wasting your breath,” Russ mutters.
“Yeah, well, it's mine to waste, isn't it?” I try again. “Do you know? Can you at least tell me if they're safe?”
One corner of his mouth twitches, as if he's getting some kind of perverse pleasure out of this. To my surprise, however, he responds politely in a smooth, silken voice.
“As safe as you are, Judith Sterling.”
Okay. Now we're getting somewhere. Although I have to say, his response could be construed in ways that are more than a little disturbing.
At least it's progress. “Then you do know where they are.”
Closing his eyes for a brief moment, he reopens them like a lazy cat before smiling and giving me the slightest of nods.
“Then they're alive?”
Another blasé nod.
“I don't suppose you'd be willing to give me a hint as to their location.”
The sapphire eyes glimmer with interest. “For you? I might.”
“What would it take?”
“Judith, don't...” Russ warns me.
“What would it take?” I persist. “For you to tell me where they are.”
The sensuous mouth curves into a slow, wicked smile. “What are you willing to give, little sister?”
Pointing at me, Russ bellows to Max, “Take her upstairs. Now!”
He wastes no time in doing just that. I'm being dragged out of there almost as fast as the first time. Not so fast, though, that I miss the small TV tray shoved up against the wall. I noticed it when I came down before, but didn't pay any attention to the contents scattered across it. Now I am sickened to see that it holds what looks like an array of bloody tools. Pliers and wire snips and the like. Not only that, but the knife Russ had in his possession earlier.
Oh, there it is, I think crazily. The whole world has flown out of orbit, gone stark raving mad, and I haven't the slightest idea how to deal with it. I thought I was coming back for a nice, relaxing vacation. I thought Russ and I would hang out together and maybe go hiking or have some friends over for a bonfire or do some of the stuff we used to do. Instead, I return to find our family basement transformed into something out of the Spanish Inquisition. Jesus almighty – I used to eat my Fruity Pebbles off that tray during Saturday cartoons! This feels almost like sacrilege. What's next? Is my Barbie hot tub being used for waterboarding?
“You want to know where your friends are, Judith Sterling?”
I stop halfway up the stairs, freezing at the sound of his voice. Barely breathing, I wait to hear what he says without daring to look back.
“They're being sodomized by the seven princes of Hell!”
I sprint the rest of the way upstairs, with the melodic sound of his laughter snapping at my heels the whole way.
“Are you both crazy or just plain dumbass stupid?” I shout at Max, slamming the door behind us. I can't help it, I have to take my frustration out on him since Russ is still down there. Breaking his fist against Locryn's face, no doubt. “How could you bring him here? Please, I really want to know! Just what the fuck did you think you were going to accomplish?”
Max furrows his brow, his soft gray eyes sympathetic in spite of my yelling. “We were trying to help our friends, Jude. Tell me you wouldn't have done the same thing.”
“Oh, brilliant! So answer me this – even if you can get him to talk, then what? You can't kill him! What were you planning on doing, just keeping him chained up down there forever? Did you even stop to think of that? Did either of you stop for one minute to think any of this through?”
“And what would you have done, Jude?” Gently grasping my shoulders, he looks me in the eye with an almost desperate expression. “If that thing had dragged off one of your best friends. Or what if it had taken Russell? Are you telling me you'd just say oh well, nothing I could do, and let it go? No. I don't think so. I know exactly what you'd have done. You'd have gone in, guns blazing, fighting with everything you had, and damn the conseque
nces. I know you. You're more like your brother than you realize. You're two of the most stubborn individuals I've ever met!”
“I'm not stubborn!” I protest, before realizing the irony in it.
Max raises an eyebrow, his lips twisting into a wry smile.
I heave a sigh of annoyance, but it's impossible not to mirror his smile. “Let me guess. None of this was your idea, was it?” It's not hard to deduce, knowing my brother.
He shakes his head. “I tried to talk him out of it. He wouldn't listen.”
“Doesn't surprise me.”
“If you ask me, he's giving Price exactly what he wants.”
“Which is...?”
“A fight. I swear to God, the guy is deliberately provoking him. It's like he's actually getting off on this. I've never seen anything like it. He won't break. No matter what we do, no matter how much pain we inflict, the guy just won't give in. And the madder Russ gets, the more he seems to like it. I know it sounds crazy, but it's almost like he's feeding off your brother's anger.”
Which only makes sense if his end game really is to hurt Russ. Although his methods don't seem very practical. Not when he's the one being tortured.
“You don't think he was telling the truth, do you? About them, uh...” Getting dump thumped by the seven princes of Hell? Now there's something you don't want to see on your vacation brochure.
“Pretty sure he just said that to mess with your head. From everything I've read, the living aren't permitted access to Hell.”
And what if they're no longer living? Ignoring the uneasy thought, I ask instead, “Were you there that night? When they disappeared?”
“Yes. I was there.”
“What happened? Did you see anything?”
He hesitates for a moment, and I could almost swear that I see him shudder. “I don't know what I saw.”
“That's not an answer, Max. What did you see? Start with what happened when Russ blew up at everyone.”
“He told you about that?”
“Yes. But I want to hear your side of it.”
Closing his eyes, he rubs his forehead like he's trying to ward off a headache. “I'm not saying Owen and Sky were innocent in all this. They weren't exactly being subtle or anything. It's true they'd done a lot of tequila shots, but that was no excuse for the way they were acting.”
“How were they acting?”
“Out of hand. And by out of hand I mean out of character. For both of them. It's like they weren't even themselves that night. You know, in retrospect, it makes me wonder if they weren't under some kind of outside influence.”
“Outside influence? What do you mean?”
“Because of the way it all went down. Russ had just gone to the bathroom for a minute when Sky straddles Owen and starts giving him a lap dance. Right there at the table, in plain view of everyone. They're kissing and going at it like they don't even care. So I tell them they might want to cool it, but let's just say they're way too occupied to pay me any attention. I can see Russ coming back and I know the shit's about to hit the fan, but it's too late by then. He's already seen them. His girlfriend dry-humping one of his best friends. You get why he was so upset, right?”
I nod in silent understanding.
“I'm thinking, oh man, this isn't good, so I get in between them as fast as I can. Russ is already trying to jump on Owen, swinging at him, threatening to kick his ass, and he's calling Sky every name in the book. You can imagine. Anyway, last thing I want is to see the two of them tie up, so I'm doing everything I can to defuse the situation. I tell Russ it might be a good idea if we just leave. And I think he agrees, 'cause he finally just turns around and walks out.
“So I go up to the bar to take care of the tab, and when I get back to our table everyone's gone. I'm thinking they're all in the parking lot, right? And I'm rushing trying to get out there just in case they're all fighting again. But I can't find them. None of them. And the car's still there, because I have the keys, so I know they haven't left.”
He wets his lips and swallows, giving me the impression that the second part of the story eclipses even the first.
“When I go back inside, I find Russ sitting at the bar talking to some dude I've never seen before. As I'm walking up, this guy turns to leave and just kinda brushes past me on his way out. He touches my arm for just a second. Just a second, that's all. And it was like...”
His eyes look past me, staring out the window, and I follow his gaze but all I can see in the encroaching twilight is the front porch and the glistening wet fields. Whatever he's seeing, it's something that's locked away inside his own mind.
“Like what?” I finally prompt.
“Pain,” he tells me, his voice flat as he focuses vacantly on nothing. “Like I've never felt before. Not physical pain, not like that. More like mental anguish. Like I'd just stepped into a nightmare where everything I ever cared about was either suffering or dead. It all happened really fast, it couldn't have lasted for more than a second or two, but that was long enough to nearly bring me to my knees.”
I have to suppress the urge to shiver. Part of me is clinging to the hope that there is a logical explanation for this whole fiasco, no matter how far-fetched. Already, I'm starting to doubt what I witnessed with my own eyes no more than ten minutes ago.
Denial. Apparently it's not just a river in Egypt.
“Don't take this the wrong way or anything,” I say gently. “It's not that I don't believe you. I just want to make sure we have all our facts straight here. Are you a hundred percent certain your being drunk couldn't have had anything to do with it?”
He looks back at me with a frown. “That's the thing, though. I wasn't. Who do you think was the designated driver? I didn't have a drop of alcohol all night. Whatever I saw, whatever I experienced, I was stone cold sober when I felt it.”
We grow quiet, each of us lost in our own convoluted thoughts. I have no idea what's going through Max's head right now, but my main concern is – what's next? What are we supposed to do with the captive? Eventually we'll find out where Owen and Skylar are, surely, and then what? This cambion or whatever he is, he's not going to just let this go and skip along his merry way like nothing ever happened. He's going to be pissed. Face it, we're all pretty much screwed unless we find a way out of this.
All we can do is take it one step at a time. First things first. And the first, most important step would be finding out what's become of the two missing people.
“Do you think he really has them?” I wonder out loud.
“He admitted as much.” Max sounds bleak, almost defeated, as if he knows as well as I do that this can't end well. “I don't think he was lying about that. I don't know why he would.”
I play the scene at the bar over in my head. I don't know Skylar that well, but I can't imagine Owen stooping to such a level. No way. Not goofy, silly Owen. The guy who once tricked me into believing that ant beds grow into volcanoes. Who used to call me names like squirt and brat and Judy Doody. Who offered me his candy apple at the county fair when I dropped mine in the dirt. He isn't the type of guy who would move in on his friend's girl. I don't care if alcohol was involved, he just wouldn't.
“This thing with Skylar and Russell,” I muse. “How serious was it? I thought they'd only been dating for a few months.”
“I don't know how serious it was, but I know Russ was crazy about her. And she followed him around like a groupie. Always calling, texting, bringing him little presents. That's why none of it made sense. She acted like someone who was head over heels in love. I didn't think she even liked Owen. She never flirted with him before.”
I'm having trouble concentrating on his words. I can't stop thinking about the way the cambion's wounds healed before my eyes. How the blood just disappeared, like water evaporating into thin air. Poof. Just...gone. I've never seen anything like that before in my life.
How could something so preternatural, so formidable, be so easily captured?
“Tell me s
omething.” Because I can't figure this one out. “How'd this Price guy end up chained in the basement? How the heck did that go down?”
Before he has a chance to answer, the basement door swings open and Russ bursts in, cradling his wrist and grimacing. “I think I broke my hand.”
I can't help but roll my eyes. Yep, totally called that one, didn't I? I knew something like this was going to happen.
“Ni-i-ice,” I drawl. “And whose fault is that, I wonder?”
“Let me have a look,” Max says, going over to inspect the damage. “Does it feel numb? Can you clench your fist for me?” I can't see what happens next, but whatever he does elicits a yelp from Russ.
I peer around Max, trying to get a look. Underneath the blood and scrapes, Russell's fingers and the back of his hand are swollen and turning a nasty purplish red.
“Wow. I'd hate to see the other guy,” I remark, grinning when I'm rewarded with a dirty look. “Oh, wait...”
“Funny. Ha, ha. I'm in motherfucking stitches here.”
“You won't need stitches, but an x-ray is another matter.” Max gives him a benign clap on the shoulder. “Hate to tell you this, bud, but we're gonna have to make a trip to the clinic. Looks like you might need a splint.”
“Son of a bitch!” Russ curses.
“Temper, temper.” Clucking, I reach over to pinch his nose and wiggle it back and forth. “Isn't that what got you into this mess, poopsykins? Maybe next time you'll learn to keep your hands to yourself. No hitting. Hitting bad. Hitting what Neanderthals do.”
He glares at me, trying his best to remain all scowly, but I look at him cross-eyed and he ends up cracking a smile anyway. I've always been able to make him laugh. When we were kids we used to play this game – who can make the other laugh first. I emerged victorious every time.
“You're worse than the damn demon,” he accuses me irritably. I can hear the affection in his voice, though.
“Flattery get you nowhere, Captain Caveman.” Something suddenly occurs to me. “Is the clinic even still open? What time do they close? You might have to go to the ER.”
Max glances at the clock. “I think they're open 'til eight.”
I check the hands on the rooster as well. It's only a quarter to seven. Good – they should have plenty of time. “You better get going, then.”