Shady Lady (Corine Solomon #3)

Shady Lady (Corine Solomon #3) Page 26

“Did it belong to him, then?”

I finished my beer and nodded. “Yes. And others too.” But his charge had been strongest, such shock and shame at the accusations. “I’d like to buy it.”

Ridiculous—we didn’t have the cash to pay for such a relic. Though our expenditures had been low, we had only seven hundred nuevos soles left. Yet I had to try. I didn’t want to sneak here in the dark to steal the crucifix. Surely Kel wouldn’t go along with that, even if I was “important.”

“It is part of the history of this mission,” Father de León said. “One cannot put a price on such things.”

As a former pawnshop owner, I noticed one thing straightaway: He hadn’t said no. That meant he was open to haggling, and that was my forte. He started out by naming an absurd price, ten thousand.

“Ridículo,” I said, laughing. I half rose, as if to leave.

“Espere. Quizás . . .”

Kel touched my arm lightly and whispered in my ear. The news made me smile. In the end, we dickered for a quarter of an hour before I got de León to accept six hundred cash and a matching pair of silver salt and pepper shakers: Eros and Psyche, of course. He could tell they were valuable and would buy a much nicer, newer crucifix, as well as other things for the church, but he hid his satisfaction well. Instead he wore a grave expression, as if he let the old one go only with great reluctance.

“It was a pleasure,” he said as I stood. “But why do you want it?”

“I work for a man descended from Father Escobar. He desires it for sentimental reasons.”

The priest nodded as if that made perfect sense. “What did you see when you touched the cross? What happened?”

I smiled slightly. “He didn’t hurt that girl. And I don’t know where he went, once he left it behind.”

“Not heaven, I think.”

No, probably not. I figured he’d headed north. If he was related to Escobar, he’d fathered children, just not on the poor girl who had wanted him to claim her baby as his own. I guessed she didn’t understand the concept of celibacy—only that he was powerful and could shield her from shame, if he so chose.

“Gracias por todo,” I told de León.

He waved as I tucked the crucifix into my bag and Kel followed me out. It was getting on toward evening. Everyone had gone home, so there were few people about, but still chickens and goats. The former squawked as we passed by, pecking at grubs I couldn’t see. We followed the track back to the village center, unrolled our sleeping bags, and I sat down, facing him.

“How did I do?”

He shrugged. “If that is the right object, then very well.”

I laughed. “Faint praise, indeed.”

In the dark, his tats glowed faintly, signaling power or strong emotion. With Kel I’d never been able to differentiate the two, and perhaps in him they were inextricably bound. That fact explained at least half of what rendered him so fascinating—and utterly off-limits.

“I don’t mean to slight you,” he said gravely. “I expected you to falter on the way. You have more fortitude than I knew.”

“More than I knew, frankly. There were a few times, out there”—I gestured toward the horizon, where the jungle we couldn’t see teemed with fearsome creatures—“when I wanted to give up.”

“I know.” His tone was gentle, but also impersonal, like a nurse offering reassurance to a patient when he’d had seen so many that they had become numbers and diseases instead of names and faces. Rarely, he displayed real emotion, but I had the sense it was painful for him—he needed the impassivity to function in a world where he comprised the only constant.

“You’ve been fantastic. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

He tipped his head forward, acknowledging the praise. Only a faint curve at the edges of his mouth showed his pleasure, but I saw. His archangel probably never said, Good job, or, Thanks for killing that infidel. I had no idea why he wasn’t crazy; too much isolation could drive a person out of his mind.

“Should you call Escobar?”

“I don’t know if the phone has any charge left.” But I powered it on and found I had half a bar, just a flicker of juice. Unfortunately, we were far out of range of any cell towers, and there were no pay phones. I sighed. “We’ll have to find a way to a bigger town. We can ask around in the morning.”

“There’s no road,” he observed, “so that means no buses.”

I groaned. Not more walking. “Maybe we can go by donkey cart.”

“Better than camels.” From his expression, he meant it as a judgment drawn from personal experience.

With some effort, I killed my curiosity and lay down. We needed rest. In the morning, we could discover how people traveled from place to place; I hoped it wouldn’t be expensive.

At some point after dark, I woke with fear choking me. The air tasted thick and heavy and foul, like I remembered from Catemaco. It carried a familiar taste as I sucked in a breath, openmouthed.

No. Oh, shit, no.

They’d found me.

Demon in the Dark

The ground trembled like the precursor to an earthquake. I scrambled away as the air thickened, gaining volume. And then it tore, something I’d never heard of or even imagined. I thought demons were evil spirits, some powerful, certainly, but lacking form in our realm.

I had never been so wrong.

Darklight swelled through the hole in the world, and then a powerful black-scaled shoulder wedged its way through, followed by a long arm topped in razor-sharp talons. It was like watching a hideous, unwholesome birth, and every inch of the demon was worse than what came before. The thing had a ridged skull and deep-set eyes that glimmered in the dark; it wore a spiked leather-and-metal harness emblazoned with infernal sigils. If only I could read demonic script, but I had never studied such things. One of the symbols looked faintly familiar, as if I had seen it before. Possibilities flickered through my mind, but horror and fright warred against coherent thought.

My guardian rolled to his feet. The monster pushed all the way through, nostrils flared as it cocked its head as if listening to unheard orders. Instinct shouted at me to flee, but like a mouse mesmerized by a snake, I couldn’t make my muscles respond. Violence clung to this creature like oil on its back, tainting the air around it. The beast shook off the disorientation and charged.

In one hand, Kel wielded the kukri-style machete; in the other, he held the slim, silver blade I’d seen him fight with in Laredo. He didn’t look my way as he placed his body between the beast and me.

“Run.”

“Can you kill it?” My fingers closed on my backpack, and then I realized it was fruitless. I owned nothing that could hurt it. “Will your flash do it?”

The demon lashed out with an enormous claw. Kel blocked with the machete, still taking a deep slash along his forearm. His tats blazed nearly incandescent, kindling a halo about him. His beacon probably wouldn’t do anything against an otherworldly monster like this; the Klothod had been spirits inside the monkeys, and the destruction of the demons inside burned up their bodies too. This thing unquestionably came from elsewhere.

“He cannot. It will not.” The deep rumble of a voice sounded as though it came through a fissure in the earth created by the slow grate of obsidian and basalt. “I am here for you, and I cannot be slain or unsummoned until I have tasted your blood. But I do not mind at all playing first with this little fallen angel.”

“This what?” Maybe I could stall. Distract it. Give Kel a chance to kill it, even if the fiend claimed invincibility. Demons lied; there had to be a way.

“How rich. How delightful. You don’t even know who he really is, do you?”

Kel landed a blow that should have decapitated the thing. But it didn’t.

“So tell me,” I begged.

“He is Nephilim,” the monster roared. “Half-blood offspring of an angel and a human female, born of lust. Small wonder the archangels punished him. The flesh must be mortified and made humble.”

“That is not why,” Kel growled, whirling into motion with his blades. “There are no strictures against such a joining. Prince of lies, tell her all of it, if you must.”

“Prince?” Its teeth gleamed in the dark. “You flatter me. Not for paternal lust, then, but his human mother did drive the celestial hate. The host can be so intolerant . . . and you made it worse with your defiance. Disobedience. You would not learn your place. Poor half-breed . . . so reviled. It will be a mercy when I devour you.”

“Perhaps,” he answered, “but every cut will cost you.”

Their movements quickened until I couldn’t follow the slashing, snarling blows. I smelled sweet, coppery blood in the air as I scrambled to my feet. Terror clouded my thoughts. I didn’t want to leave him. It seemed like treachery, cowardice, and abandonment. Kel’s kukri showered sparks anytime he connected; only the silver dagger seemed to do the devil any damage, but not enough. Not nearly enough. In fact, the wounds made it stronger; it gloried in fear and pain, drinking them down like osmotic ambrosia.

The demon was too strong. Already I could see that Kel, who had seemed so fast, so tireless, was slower than the monster. He took more hits than he blocked, and his fair skin ran red with blood, illuminated by the shine of his tattoos. He had no breath to tell me again to run, but I saw the command in his eyes. It hurt me to see his wounds.

His words echoed in my mind. I am here to bear your pain, my blood for yours.

At last self-preservation kicked in, and I sprang away. Though there was nowhere for me to run, my legs pounded against the dirt. I had my pack still in hand, but it availed me nothing. No weapon. No sanctuary.

As I rounded the corner that led toward the church, I glanced back. Horror froze me. The demon impaled God’s hand on its talons, lifted him high, and twisted. Kel made no sound, and the monster’s laugh rang out. “Kelethiel, my old enemy, son of Uriel and Vashti, in the name of the Morningstar, I turn and banish thee.”

Darklight swelled again. After it dimmed, there was only the demon, the dark—and me. Nobody would care if this village vanished. When the greater world noticed its destruction, they would attribute the carnage to natural disaster, disease, famine, or some minor guerrilla war. My champion was gone.

There was no reason to hide. Even if the church lay on hallowed ground, the demon would prowl around outside and murder everyone in their beds until it starved me out. I wouldn’t buy my own life at that price. So I spun and faced it.

“Are you not afraid to die, little one?” The fiend slowed as it came toward me.

It could likely see I was no threat, trembling like a bird, a backpack dangling uselessly from one hand. I didn’t answer. Thoughts flashed through my brain, almost too quick for me to track them, and then I had an idea. Before the fiend reached me, I dug into the bag and produced the crucifix.

“Stay back.” My voice shook.

“That only works if you have faith.” Its low, rumbling voice became caressing. “And you don’t. Not since your mother died.”