“Very well,” Roger said with a sigh, as if indulging a petulant child.
Out of the corner of his vision, Sebastian saw Roger close his eyes. When the witch opened them, they glowed faintly red. At the same moment, Freddie swayed as if drunk and gave his head a shake.
“Wha—where am I? Seb? Is that you? What in the world—AH!!” Catching sight of the demons, his brother stumbled back into the arms of one of the witches, a beast of a man with bulging muscles and tattoos festooning every inch of his dark skin. The witch pushed Freddie back into the circle, a derisive chuckle coming from deep within his chest at Freddie’s whimper of fear.
“W-what are those things? S-Seb—”
“Shut-up Freddie and get a grip on yourself. This is about to be over.”
Roger cleared his throat ominously. “The book, boy.”
Knowing he was spelling his own doom, Sebastian pulled on that faint thread, the only sliver of power that remained of his original connection to Tahir. Instead of the staff, a large leather-bound book appeared in his hands. It felt heavy, not just with the normal weight of gravity, but the weight of age, importance, and power. This was Roger’s Book of Names, an ancient artifact from who knew where that had the true names of hundreds, possibly thousands of demons written in it, along with the demonic spells necessary to control them. Though Sebastian didn’t know the mechanics of why demonic magic worked the way it did, he did know that a critical difference between demons and fae was that demons could be controlled by their true name. The fae, in contrast, could not be compelled, though they certainly paid attention when their true names were used. Perhaps Aunt B. or some other learned wizard could explain why magic worked this way. Regardless, the fact that it did was the sole reason demons weren’t running amok through the entire world, wreaking Armageddon until there was no life left: they could be controlled. And resting in his hands, feeling heavier than a ton of bricks, was the means by which a single man could, with enough willpower, bend the myriad legions of hell to his own purposes.
At the sight of the book, Roger’s eyes blazed with desire and he stepped forward. All around Sebastian, too, the other witches’ attention was riveted on the object in his hands. Even the demons seemed to quiet, drawing back in fear and hatred from the means of their enslavement.
“Before I hand it over, Roger, my brother walks out of here.” Not waiting for a reply, Sebastian addressed his brother, voice low as his eyes flicked back and forth assessing his enemies. “Go, Freddie. Door’s behind me. Car’s down the road, keys under the seat. Go to Aunt B’s. She’ll protect you. But don’t you dare tell her where I am or come back to help.”
“But—”
“GO!”
Already spooked, Freddie needed no further encouragement. To Sebastian’s relief—a relief so strong his knees almost gave way—none of the witches or demons gave his brother a second glance as the man stumbled away and broke into a sprint, heading for the front door. All eyes were fixed on the book in Sebastian’s hands.
Sebastian waited until he heard the scraping clang of the rusted door opening and closing before he raised his arms, both limbs feeling as heavy as if they were made of lead, and held out the book toward Roger’s eager gaze.
This was it, and he knew it. As soon as his fingers lost contact, the book would disappear, and Roger would turn his full wrath upon him. He could try to make a break for the door, but there was absolutely zero chance he would actually reach it, not with six demons surrounding him—not even if Pip gave her life fighting by his side, which he very much doubted she would do even if he hadn’t already given her strict orders to leave him to his fate.
As Roger approached, Sebastian silently said goodbye to his brother, to his aunt, to Lily. Especially Lily. Pain radiated through the numbness in his chest, and he almost wished Roger would hurry up and put him out of his misery, because he didn’t think he could bear to feel his heart break again.
No matter. At least they were all safe, and soon the book would be as well. Thiriel would be satisfied, and Roger would be left with nothing. Nothing but Sebastian to vent his wrath on, of course.
Roger was barely a few feet away now, and Sebastian shuddered to be so close, the feeling of evil coming from the vile man taking him back to when he was sixteen. Roger’s strong hands gripped the book, tugging it from Sebastian’s grasp. Sebastian held on for a second more, then let out a deep sigh and gave up. Gave in. He was exhausted beyond belief and tired of fighting. Tired of resisting.
The book was lifted from his hands. His fingers brushed against the cover, then lost contact.
But the volume did not disappear.
Roger’s whole being seemed to glow with pleasure, his red eyes blazing in triumph. He opened the cover with one hand and ran loving fingers along its vellum pages, gaze drinking it in as he muttered to himself, “At lassst, we are reunited. Now, the ring will be oursss.”
NO! Sebastian’s mind screamed as he stared at the book, frozen in horror. What had gone wrong? Why hadn’t it disappeared?
Roger looked up, and this time Sebastian didn’t have the strength to avert his gaze.
“You will find, Sebastian, that there are a great many things you do not know. But we will come to know one another better, and soon you will understand. Yesssss, you will underssstand…”
Those red eyes opened into a gaping mouth of flame in Sebastian’s mind’s eye, swallowing him whole, and black terror took him.
All-consuming fear.
Pain—an agony beyond belief.
Grief. Guilt. Horror. Envy. Hate. Revulsion.
Then pain again, and fear. Never-ending terror.
It all swirled about him, through him, consuming him and ripping his soul to shreds until he wept and screamed and begged for relief. It went on for ever and ever until he was sure his mind would break.
Then it stopped. He was so relieved, so weak and shaken, that when the questions started he didn’t even think, he just answered. Anything and everything in his mind spilled out, and he didn’t even consider resisting. There was no point. It was inside him, and there was only one option: obedience. It was such a relief to simply give up that even if he could have fought back, he doubted he would have.
It was pleased. Which is why he didn’t understand when the pain started again, and went on and on until his voice was broken into a thousand pieces and he simply screamed with his mind.
Then it stopped.
Then it started again.
Questions.
More pain.
Questions.
On and on and on, until time no longer existed. Until he no longer existed.
When It finally left him, he didn’t even have a chance to feel relieved before blackness took him and he was free.
“Sebastian? Sebastian! Wake up!”
At first the hissing whisper, accompanied by a painful slap to the face, made him recoil and whimper in terror. It was starting again. But then he noticed the softness of the hand cupping his cheek. Another hand was laid on his chest, and its cool touch soothed the agonizing fire that seemed to burn on every nerve ending throughout his body. He groaned pitifully and tried to open his eyes, but his lids felt heavy and swollen, and everything before him was dark.
“Oh, thank the heavens, Sebastian,” the voice whispered, almost choking on the words. “Hold on, let me get you down.”
He felt hands pulling at the restraints around his wrists, the tight bonds stretching his arms out wide to either side of him. They had tried to tie him up with simple ropes the first time. He remembered it because his heart had lifted for a moment when the ropes had slid off his wrists, seeming incapable of holding him. The fae staff and its accompanying power might have been taken away, but it seemed that one of Thiriel’s other gifts, a mere trifle for her own amusement, had stuck with him: he could not be held prisoner by mundane means.
Of course, that had meant little for Roger, and the end result had been worse for Sebastian. Instead of rope burns, he h
ad endured pure demonic power encircling his wrists and body, holding him so tight he couldn’t even thrash in pain. Whoever the voice belonged to that was trying to rescue him now, they couldn’t help him, not against Roger’s power.
“Lea—leave,” he tried to say, his voice barely a whisper. “C-can’t help.”
“Oh, shut up, Sebastian. You’ve done enough damage already, so you might as well be quiet and let me rescue you.”
That voice…those hands. A whiff of smell tickled his nostrils, so different from the stench of sulfur that he actually noticed it—a mix of old books and fragrant herbs.
Lily.
Panic surged through his limbs and his eyes opened wide. “Lily, n-no! Go! Get away. Run!”
“Hush!” she hissed frantically, covering his mouth with a hand. But he thrashed and moaned, begging her to leave him. If Roger heard, if that evil bastard caught her—he sobbed in terror at the thought of what that monster would do to her. His life was not worth the risk.
Lily cursed in the darkness, using a word Sebastian had never imagined might cross her ladylike lips. The sound of it shocked him into silence, and Lily used the opportunity to slip something cold onto one of his fingers.
“There, you stubborn excuse for a baboon’s backside. Protest all you want now, no one can hear you.” Her whispered rebuke was accurate. As much as he yelled at her to run, to get out, she seemed not to hear a word of it as her hands explored his wrists and bare torso where the bands of power held him fast.
White light suddenly flared in the darkness, and the sight of her lovely face nearly made him weep with joy. Though her eyes looked red and swollen as if she’d been crying, her mouth was set in granite lines of determination. Her brow furrowed in concentration as she examined him, her fingertips brushing the bare skin of his chest and leaving goosebumps in their wake. Light streamed from her ward bracelet in delicate ribbons that wrapped around the demonic power holding him. Lily seemed to strain, pulling against an unseen force, and then all of a sudden the bands vanished, leaving him unsupported.
He fell forward, nearly squashing Lily since he had no strength left in his limbs. She barely managed to catch him, lowering him with difficulty to the floor so he could lay on his back and breathe freely for the first time in what felt like an eternity.
“Are you all right? What did they do to you? Can you stand?” Her whispered questions were close to his ear, and the music of her voice made him shut his eyes, wishing to drift off into blissful sleep. He could die then and there and be happy simply to have had such relief before the end.
A slap to the face brought him round.
“Don’t you dare, Sebastian. Don’t. You. Dare. I didn’t come all this way for you to give up on me. Now get your sorry butt off the floor and let’s go.” Her voice was no longer musical, but full of sharp, angry edges that quivered with tightly restrained emotion.
The glow from her bracelet had faded, but still provided enough illumination for them both to see as Lily helped him rise laboriously to his feet. He knew she couldn’t support his full weight, so he did his best to force his abused body into submission despite the dizziness, nausea, and a piercing pain in his side that he suspected was a cracked rib. His shirt was gone, though he still had the triangular seeing stone he always wore around his neck. Sharp debris on the floor pressed into his abused feet and he realized his shoes were gone too. He gasped in pain as Lily’s slender arm wound around his back and chest, brushing against a myriad of bloody bruises and cuts. Her clothes would be ruined after this, he was sure. It was a silly, unimportant thought, something that never would have occurred to him in the past. But Lily had a thing about clothes, and he felt an odd sense of guilt at bleeding all over hers.
A soft meow came from the door, and Sebastian looked up, spotting Sir Kipling’s whiskered face in the gloom.
“Great,” Lily muttered. “Kip says there’s movement downstairs. We may have to make a run for it. Can you walk on your own?”
“Feet are…kinda tender,” he said through gritted teeth, trying to ignore the pain, force his brain to function normally, and keep from falling over all at the same time.
She stared at him, confused, as if she hadn’t heard his response. Then her face cleared. With her free hand, she found the ring she had put on his finger earlier and turned it. “Silly me, your Ring of Cacophony was still on silent mode.”
Realization struck, and he felt his facial muscles make a feeble attempt at a grin. “That old thing? Where’d you find it? Thought I gave it away.” His words were a bare wheeze and his dry, shredded vocal cords rebelled at the effort, sending him into a coughing fit.
“Hush. It’s a long story for later. You just concentrate on walking.”
He tried, and had even taken a few painful steps before his brain kicked back into gear. Roger. Witches. Demons.
“W-wait, what are you doing? Get out of here. It’s too dangerous,” he hissed at her, trying to extricate himself and push her away. “Roger is here. You have no idea—he’s too powerful. He’ll find you and mind control you and—”
A soft hand against his mouth made him stop, though it was more from pleasure at her touch than anything else.
“I know who he is, and I’ll be fine. Angelic wards, remember? If I could survive Thiriel, Morgan, and that greater demon at the Clay Museum, I’m pretty sure Roger can’t be any worse. But if you’re worried, then for heaven’s sake shut up and let’s go. I’d rather not face him if I don’t have to.”
Still, he resisted.
“What is the matter with you, Sebastian? Can’t you just let someone help you for once?”
“There’s—” A painful cough interrupted him, then he forged on. “There’s something, something I have to get. I can’t leave without it.”
“Your brother?” Lily’s voice was suddenly apprehensive.
“No. He—he got away.”
Sebastian felt her relax, though her grip did not loosen, and she tugged him toward the door. “Good, then we can come back later. You’re in no condition to be going after anything. You need a hospital.”
Sebastian swayed, his thoughts wavering, breaking as they remembered Roger’s triumphant look, that terrible moment of fear and crushing failure when he realized he had failed Thiriel. He started to babble, trying to extricate himself from her grip. “Y-you don’t understand. It’s dangerous. I—I have to get it back from Roger. He’ll do terrible things—”
“I’m sure Roger will do terrible things no matter what. We’ll come back for it later, Sebastian. Come on!”
With that, she gave a mighty heave and they went stumbling toward the door, Sebastian biting his lip against a cry of pain as his injured ribs protested. Guilt flooded through him and his mind demanded he push her away, beg her to run as fast and as far as possible.
But he couldn’t.
He needed her, desperately, and was just selfish enough—just weak enough—to let her help. After all, he wanted to survive. Not just survive, but live, with her at his side. He wanted it so badly it was a physical need, spurring him on, giving strength to his injured limbs even as it silenced his guilty protests.
Pushing such thoughts away, he tried to focus on putting one foot in front of the other. As best as he could tell, they were in one of the storage rooms on the second floor of the paper mill, maybe even the same one he’d first found Freddie in. They reached the door, and Sir Kipling joined them, rubbing briefly against Sebastian’s uninjured leg before trotting off in front of them, tail held high like a banner.
A tiny squeak sounded as something zipped down the hall.
“Pip,” Sebastian whispered as the pixie landed on his shoulder and gave him a firm, if quiet, scolding. “What are you doing here? I thought I told you to leave.” She informed him that she had, and had only come back because she was being generously paid. Oh, and also he was a reckless idiot. Her rapid telling-off made him smile, aware that she wouldn’t have taken the “job” if she hadn’t wanted to—especi
ally not with Roger and his minions on the prowl.
At Lily’s “hush,” Pip fell silent, and Sebastian concentrated on making his legs move as Lily helped him half limp, half stumble toward the stairs, body protesting with each step. The stairs were at the back of the building, going away from the front offices where Roger had always set up shop in the past. Sebastian couldn’t imagine how they would get away, unless Roger was so overconfident that, with Sebastian at his mercy, he had failed to post sentries.
As if that thought had jinxed them, they heard a sudden commotion of voices and the rush of feet at the other end of the hall.
“Here’s the railing. Keep going—I’ll deal with them.” Lily set his hand on the rusted pole at the head of the stairs and withdrew, giving him a little push that almost sent him tumbling down the stairs. “Go!” she urged and turned away, muttering to Pip.
Sebastian hesitated, looking over his shoulder. There wasn’t much light, but enough filtered in that he could see three shapes advancing down the hall, their bodies outlined in the faintest red glow. He didn’t even hear Lily cast, but suddenly the front figure was bowled over by an invisible force, flying backward and hitting the open door that stuck out into the hall with a thud.
Before his sluggish brain could decide whether or not to try and help, Lily had struck the other two with some kind of bolt that made them spasm briefly before falling unconscious on the floor.
When she rejoined him, she was breathing heavily but seemed no worse for the wear. She tugged on his elbow, and he finally let her draw him down the stairs. Sir Kipling, who had seen he was not needed in the fight, had already made it to the bottom and was sticking his nose around the door to the hall.
“What was that?” Sebastian asked, wheezing. “You were, like, wizard Gambit or something back there.”
“First of all, you have always underestimated me. Second, I’ve been practicing, as any competent wizard does. Now hush and walk faster.” Her irritated reply, edged with a bit of steel, shut him up, and he concentrated on not falling. Or screaming in pain.
Love, Lies, and Hocus Pocus Betrayal Page 15