Love, Lies, and Hocus Pocus Identity

by Lydia Sherrer

  Pain—helpless, crushing agony—stole Lily’s breath away. She couldn’t utter a single word as Nergal continued down the line, torturing Ethel, her mother, and Jamie one by one until they were all screaming her name.

  “K-Kip, help me. Help me!” Lily sobbed, finding her voice at last.

  She didn’t know what she’d expected—perhaps for Sir Kipling to transform into a lion and tear Nergal’s head off. But the cat did not attack the demon. Instead, he slashed at the tendrils holding her feet fast and easily tore through them with his sharp claws. In moments, she was free, and with the anguished cries of her closest friends and family ringing in her ears, she made a choice.

  She fled.

  Stumbling over rubble and the oozing tangle of Nergal’s tendrils, Lily rushed from the ruins of McCain Library, not daring to glance around to see if Sir Kipling was following. As soon as she’d cleared the building’s rubble, she broke into an all-out sprint. She ran faster than she’d ever run in her life. The foul, heavy air burned in her lungs, but she did not slow her headlong flight as she headed instinctively toward home.

  Her apartment complex was within easy jogging distance of campus, though she’d never jogged it herself—running was one of her least favorite activities. Even so, she seemed to reach it much sooner than she should have, as if the distance had responded to her desperate need and shortened itself. Before she knew it, she was stumbling up her front steps and grabbing the door handle, not even wondering where her locks and wards had disappeared to when her door opened easily beneath her touch.

  Lily burst into her living room and slammed the door behind her, then leaned against it as she gasped raggedly for breath. What her eyes beheld almost stole what little breath she had left, and her gasps for air became sobs of relief.

  Her home was untouched. Not a book or dish was out of place, and it was as clean and spotless as she always kept it.

  It was the relief that finally made her legs give way and she slid down the door to collapse in a tangle of limbs. Her head hung in exhaustion as her composure broke and she finally let loose the tears she’d been holding back.

  “I told you, it does not have to be this way.”

  Lily jerked her head up and scrambled back to her feet, pressing her body against the door as if she could melt through it and escape. But Nergal made no move toward her. He sat utterly relaxed on her couch, his clothes once again perfect with no sign of her loved ones’ crimson blood that had splattered his skin and gleaming hair.

  “What do you want?” Lily asked, her voice harsh through her tears.

  “Why, the same thing you want, Lilith my dear: to be left in peace. And I can give it to you, you know. A haven of safety where you—and your friends, naturally—could live in peace and quiet. Your own little world. All you have to do is submit to me and swear to keep your meddlesome human nose out of my business. It is a trifling thing, really. You leave me alone, and I will not do, well, everything out there,” he finished, waving a lazy hand toward her window.

  His speech over, Nergal fell silent, watching her with patient expectation.

  It was the oddest thing: here in the comfort of her home she was far more tempted to take him up on his offer. When faced with horrors beyond her imagining and beaten down by the demon’s might, her will had nevertheless remained steadfast—even if her body had been reduced to a trembling panic. But here, now that her pulse had slowed and she had finally caught her breath, now that she was almost comfortable and felt relatively safe, the thought of losing it all was a far more terrifying prospect.

  And would it really be so terrible if she did agree? She had never wanted to get involved in the first place. It had only been a random fluke that had thrown her in this creature’s path. How many times in the past had she longed to be able to ignore it all and be left in peace? All she had to do was...nothing.

  Lily narrowed her eyes because, of course, “nothing” was never that easy. “How do I know you’ll keep your word? You are pure evil, just try to deny it. I have no way to ensure you’ll stay away from me and mine, so your offer is worthless.”

  “Worthless? Far from it. I do not lie, dear Lilith. It is not in my nature.” Nergal’s eyes glinted, and his half-smile hardened until it looked as sharp as steel.

  “You don’t lie? What do you call that”—she flung her hand toward her window—“and before, when you were saying all sorts of horrible things about me. Every word out of your mouth is a lie.”

  Nergal narrowed his eyes. “You are mistaken, human. What I spoke was true. If you are too ignorant or foolish to accept it, that is not my concern. As for my artful redecoration of your city...” He paused to bare his teeth in a malicious grin. “That is no lie. It is a promise.”

  Lily glared at him, conflict roaring inside her until she couldn’t form a single coherent thought.

  “Of course,” the demon said, looking down to examine his nails, “if you doubt me, we could always strike a binding blood pact. Not even I could break such a pact without, shall we say, unpleasant and rather permanent ramifications.” He looked up at her and grinned.

  Lily shivered. “Over my dead body.”

  “Hmm, do not tempt me.”

  An insane, hysterical urge to laugh bubbled up inside Lily, and she worked to keep her mouth closed. This was not happening. She was not sitting in her living room trading jokes with Nergal, the ever-living god of war and destruction.

  Then the realization hit her.

  If she hadn’t already been leaning against the door, she would have dropped into the nearest chair. Her epiphany both warmed her cold limbs and sent a shudder of apprehension through her: the god of war and destruction was sitting in her living room and talking to her. If he was so worried about her interfering with his plans, why didn’t he just kill her and be done with it? Or, if he couldn’t kill her here—wherever here was—why not just kill her in real life? The answer seemed obvious:

  He couldn’t.

  He’d done his best at the Hilprecht Museum, and it hadn’t worked. So, now she was a threat. A threat to an honest-to-goodness god—or greater demon, or whatever he was.

  He was afraid of her.

  Was that why he seemed so much more polite—okay, so polite was stretching it, but maybe civilized—than he had been during their fight at the museum? Because he no longer thought of her as just a bug to be squashed, but a force to be reckoned with?

  The idea boggled her mind. It also terrified her, because she had no idea why the demon was afraid, or how to harness whatever potential she possessed that frightened him so. If she had to guess, he wasn’t really afraid of her, just the angel or whatever supernatural being had taken a shine to her and had started spouting cryptic one-liners about important things in the future. And, of course, there was Sir Kipling.

  As if he’d sensed her thinking about him, the cat himself appeared, trotting into the living room from the hallway and coming over to give Lily an evaluating sniff before he turned to sit beside her and face Nergal.

  Throughout all this, these three strange dreams or hallucinations, he had been there whenever she’d really needed him, always present if she asked. And yet he had done nothing to stop all the horror, nothing but protect her directly when she was bodily threatened. Why? It was very unlike him. He was usually more proactive in offering his opinion. Lily eyed him and wondered what he thought of Nergal’s offer. Well, she wouldn’t know if she didn’t ask.

  “Kip—” she started to say, but his meow cut her off.

  “You’ve already made this choice on multiple occasions. Why are you second-guessing yourself now?”

  Lily closed her mouth and shot the demon a nervous look. But his expression hadn’t changed, and she fervently hoped that meant demons didn’t speak Cat.

  “What are you talking about?” she asked, keeping her voice low.

  “Every time evil has risen up, you have chosen to stand against it. Why did you run this time?” Sir Kipling’s question didn’t sound ac
cusatory, just curious.

  “Because...because I couldn’t bear it,” Lily admitted, shivering at the memory she was even now trying to scrub from her mind. “But none of this is real anyway, so why does it even matter?”

  “Do you believe in souls?”

  “I—yes, I suppose? But what does that have to do with anything?”

  “Where your spirit goes, your mind and body will follow. Do not underestimate battles of the spirit.”

  “But...if this is real enough to have real consequences then...then everything he did...might really happen…” Lily gulped as the familiar chill of fear settled over her. She couldn’t bear to look up, but she felt Nergal’s eyes on her, felt them burning.

  How had she stood up to him before? Her memory of what had happened at the Hilprecht Museum felt distant and fuzzy, but hadn’t she been willing to die rather than give in? Where had her sense of duty disappeared to? Or had it just been pure stubbornness, and now she had no more left to sustain her?

  Lily didn’t know what this creature’s plans were, and she didn’t want to know. But something told her this was much bigger than her father and his crazy schemes. She’d gotten tangled up in this because of a vague sense of duty, but never had she been so starkly confronted with the sickening costs. Of course she wanted to protect innocents and stop this wretched demon by sending him back to whatever miserable hole he’d crawled out of. But was her sense of duty strong enough to prevail when giving in might be the only way to keep her loved ones safe?

  Jamie’s terrified sobs echoed in her head, and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying again to erase that horrible memory. But it was burned into her like a brand from a hot iron, and somehow she knew it would haunt her for years to come.

  Something of her thoughts must have shown on her face, because she heard a cruel chuckle. “I sympathize, truly. It is such a difficult thing, making decisions. Would it help if I demonstrated the cost of your refusal once more? It would be no bother at all, I can assure you.”

  “Shut up,” Lily spat, true hatred coloring her voice. If only she could stoke that anger—her temper always seemed to make her braver. But as soon as she spoke, the demon fell silent, and fear crept up on her again.

  She was inspired by a sense of duty, but she’d always done the “right thing” because she felt compelled to by her perfectionism. She derived her self-worth from being “good” and doing things “right.” She’d stood up to Morgan before because she couldn’t stand the thought of what Madam Barrington would think of her if she had made the less noble choice. But what did her self-worth matter in the face of harrowing pain and loss so great it would crush her very soul? Feeling good about herself was not worth Jamie’s screams, or Sebastian’s screams, or—

  A warm weight pressed against her leg, and Sir Kipling’s words broke through her dark thoughts. “What do you believe in, child?” His voice sounded deep again, like her beloved companion, but not just him—him and something more.

  What did she believe in? Lily’s head felt fit to burst as she struggled and weighed and measured and, in the end, found herself wanting. “Nothing,” she whispered, head bowed. At least, nothing strong enough to stand up to the terror that filled her heart. Not duty, not love, not “right.” None of it would save her from Nergal’s deadly promise.

  “Then believe in me.”

  That made Lily turn her head and finally look at her cat. His gaze was clear and steadfast, yet his eyes were no longer yellow, but solid, burnished gold.

  “Who are you?” Lily whispered, awestruck.

  Sir Kipling flicked an ear at her, and his eyes were normal again. Had she imagined them being gold?

  “The same me I have always been. Do you trust me?”

  That, at least, was an easy question. “Yes,” she said with absolute conviction.

  “Then believe in me and that will be enough.”

  “O-okay.”

  “If you choose this path, choose it knowing that you will face great sacrifice, but you will never have to face it alone.”

  “Okay,” she said again, more steady this time.

  “Good. Now, the demon’s name is strong, but there is one that is stronger. Use it with great care and sincere belief.”

  Lily swallowed, waiting.

  “Dimmu-ningshar-sa,” the cat purred, and if a purr could be described as reverent, his was.

  She had never heard Sir Kipling speak Enkinim before, and the word he uttered held an inexplicable weight that sent a wholly different kind of shiver down her spine. While the name’s components sounded familiar, she knew she would have to consult her eduba later to untangle their meaning. But what was she supposed to do with this name? Use it as a spell, putting the power of her magic behind it? She was afraid to ask her question out loud, in case Nergal finally decided to do more than sit and wait for her decision.

  Sir Kipling had spoken of care and belief. That didn’t sound like magic, that sounded like something much more difficult and amorphous—and she hated working without specific instructions. But Sir Kipling had said to trust him, so she did.

  Pushing herself slowly to her feet, Lily straightened and faced Nergal in all his dark, smirking glory. She met his eyes, because she knew there was no point doing what she was about to do without confidence born of trust. It was a good thing it was Sir Kipling she was trusting in and not herself, because the hell that she saw in Nergal’s eyes—the burning hatred, cruel malice, and ravenous lust for blood—made her insides seize up in terror. Never in a million years could she face that, no matter what weapon or spell she had.

  But Sir Kipling could. He’d already proven that.

  Lily took a hesitant step forward, then another one, bolder now.

  “My, my. Found our spine, have we?” the demon purred, rising smoothly from the couch as Lily advanced. “This will be diverting in the extreme.”

  The evil delight in his voice made her steps falter, and she knew she had to stop thinking about anything but Sir Kipling’s golden eyes. Her fear was a rising tide, suffocating her and draining the strength from her limbs. She left herself behind and clung to her trust in her cat, Sir Edgar Allan Kipling, who had never once let her down.

  Lily marched right up to Nergal and stopped nearly nose to nose with the creature. The demon’s grin did not slip, but its brilliance faded as his eyes turned wary.

  “Are you here to kneel before me?” he asked, lips twisting in contempt.

  You wish, Lily thought, but did not say, because it would distract her. Instead, she took a deep breath.

  “Afnergu’alak,” she said.

  “Yesss?” Nergal’s delight surged through the sudden connection between them, and she felt him bear down on her with all his corruptive might.

  “In the name of Dimmu-ningshar-sa, I command you to leave this place!”

  Power not her own roared through Lily and swept away the demon’s hold on her. She shoved forward with her hands as she cried out, meaning to throw the foul creature away. Her hands met only air, however, because the moment that greater name left her lips, Nergal leapt back with an ear-piercing screech, clearing the couch in one powerful leap and landing in the kitchen doorway.

  Her living room flickered.

  “Do not sssay that name!” Nergal hissed as hatred burned in his eyes.

  Lily forced her legs to move again and she rounded the couch, advancing on the demon. “In the name of Dimmu-ningshar-sa, I command you to leave!” she shouted a second time.

  The demon’s shriek of pain filled the house even as her surroundings flickered again. And then both it, and Nergal, vanished, plunging her into darkness.

  The voices around her were clearer this time, as if the barrier between them and her had vanished.

  “What happened, witch? The spell’s binding has been broken.”

  “Not her. Not her! Ussse another.”

  “I told you it was foolish to continue after the spell failed twice already.”

  “How dare you questio
n me!”

  “I am not questioning you, Your Majesty, I am stating a fact.”

  “Well, if she is unfit for my purposes, there is no need to keep her alive.”

  “On the contrary. She is a valuable bargaining chip, if nothing else. We could prevent a considerable amount of trouble if we use her to force the others to give up without a fight.”

  “No. She defied me and betrayed me to the cursed fae. I will have my retribution, and I will have it now!”

  “You need to wake up, little one.”

  Lily started and looked around, suddenly aware of a glow in the blackness. At her side stood Sir Kipling, and for some reason the fact that he was as big as a Labrador didn’t surprise her.

  “But how can I? This is more than just a dream. They must have some kind of spell on me. I can’t just will myself awake.”

  “Can’t you?”

  Lily stared at her cat, lips pursed. Finally, she sighed. “Well...I guess there’s no reason not to try.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” said Sir Kipling, who sat down and stared up at her expectantly.

  Slowly, Lily lowered herself into a cross-legged position and rested her hands on her knees. She began to close her eyes, but then opened them again.

  “You won’t leave me here alone, will you?”

  “I am always with you, Lily.”

  An unexpected burning pricked the corners of Lily’s eyes. She suddenly leaned forward and flung her arms around Sir Kipling’s shoulders, burying her face in his impressively fluffy neck.

  “What would I do without you?” she said, her words muffled in his silky fur.

  “Ingest less cat hair, I suspect.”

  Lily released him and sat up, chuckling through her tears. “It’s worth it.”

  “As are you.”

  There was nothing she could say that would do such a statement the honor it deserved, and so she simply took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and got to work.

  Part II