Hell’s Heresies, page 19
Of course, the demon might not be going for historical accuracy. The demon might be aware of her greatest fear…her blood ran cold at the thought.
She tried to wriggle against her bonds, but the more she struggled, the more the ropes tightened.
“Look, you’re not going to get away with this…” Zephyr said to her invisible assailant, with far more verve than she felt. “You’ve got about…I’d say five minutes to let me go before I really get annoyed.”
The stake vibrated violently and Zephyr yelped in shock. She looked around her frantically, as far around her as she could. She took a deep breath and attempted to listen, both physically and mentally. Everything remained silent. But before she could cry for help once more, she felt the stake shift to the side, ever so slightly. Confused, she tilted her head upwards towards the sky.
Something was on top of the stake. A human face leered at her, its expression manic and gleeful. The thing had a strange chimeric body, somewhere between a lion and a goat. Cloven hoofs…with claws. Long, extended claws that wrapped around the top of the stake. Zephyr stopped counting the seven dragon heads, each with double split goat faces. His form didn’t make sense. She averted her gaze. If a human stared directly at a demon like that too long, they would surely go mad.
“We meet again.”
“Azazel.” Zephyr snarled. “Unbind me now. Or are you too scared to face me one on one?”
Her palms curled. So much of magic boiled down to hand gestures with intention…magic was fluid motion, as any dancer or artist could tell you. But while she was restrained, so was her magic.
“Witch tricks bore me. Tis much more fun to keep you right here, where I can see you...”
One goat face winked while the other opened his mouth—a long, slippery tongue slurped down to her jawline hungrily.
“Get your filthy tongue off of me!” Zephyr screamed. “What do you want with me?” She jerked. A creek! Her senses sang and she was so relieved, she almost didn’t register the demon’s answer.
“In ancient times, the practitioners of magic sacrificed themselves to me. They wrote their names in a book that signed away their souls.”
“I am no one’s sacrifice.”
She pulled at the creek and a swirling torrent of water crashed through the forest and slammed into Azazel, knocking him off the stake. Zephyr promptly threw up—the force and suddenness of the cast winded her.
But Azazel returned to his feet. He didn’t even seem perturbed; more amused. “What can you accomplish, little witch?”
The seven dragon heads belched in unison. A ball of fire floated before them and a small, frightened sound came from between her lips. Fire.
She’d always hated fire. It was uncontrollable, angry, and wild—much like her own abilities. At eight years old, during a particularly fierce thunderstorm she witnessed a tree in their backyard get struck by lightning. It exploded into a blaze of flames that terrified her; she remembered feeling the heat through the glass of her window.
The worst of it was…she was never quite sure if she had summoned the lighting accidentally or if it was a natural occurrence.
The fire department had taken care of the inferno, but her fear remained. It was at that moment she tossed all her mother’s candles and threw a fit if Sunflower tried to light a fire in the fireplace. Candle magic was out of the question, so Zephyr focused her abilities on the elements of water and air. But the fire issue remained a source of contention between them…a gap she’d never sought to bridge, especially after she moved out.
Azazel took a step nearer and then another—but before he lit her ablaze, he stiffened suddenly and crumpled at her feet. The ball of fire extinguished with a pop.
Sunflower stood over him, trembling violently. A silver athame, a witch blade, gleamed in the center of Azazel’s back.
Cold fear flooded Zephyr. What the hell was Sunflower doing here? She struggled against her bonds. “Mom, get out of here!”
She was way out of her depth. For Sunflower, magic was essential oils, tarot reading, meditating, dancing with her friends underneath the full moon. It was not staring down demons or dealing with spirits. Least of all horrifying chimera-esque abominations.
Sunflower’s hands shook as she knelt down and withdrew the silver athame from Azazel’s flesh. She stumbled towards Zephyr and desperately started to cut away at the ropes.
“How—how did you—” Zephyr sputtered.
“I blessed it.” Sunflower had cut away about a third of the rope. “I drew sigils and wards on it abhorrent to evil spirits.”
She paused in her work a moment. “I—I heard your call.”
Zephyr stared at her. “You did?”
Sunflower nodded. Her sweet, simple mother had never shown any sort of intuitive magic. But perhaps motherhood had its own magic. The Goddess had clearly led her here.
Azazel’s dragon heads screeched like vultures. His chimeric bodies shifted and started to stand. Sunflower cast a frightened look over her shoulder and began to hack away at the ropes harder.
“Mom, please,” Zephyr begged. “You need to run! I can take care of him myself, just get out of here!”
Sunflower opened her mouth to respond, perhaps a refusal to abandon her daughter—but was suddenly jerked away from the stake. Zephyr watched in terror as Azazel grasped her mother in its dragonish arms, flames licking the whiskers of each goat face.
“All hail the great magician Sunflower,” Azazel sneered. “A knife in the back is all she’s ever good for…”
“LET HER GO!” Zephyr screamed.
“Nay!” The dragon heads began to drool in unison. “Nay—you will watch us devour her, crunch each and every single bone, dance to every cry for mercy—then, and only then, will I set you ablaze, witchling.”
The smallest dragon head went for Sunflower’s throat. When its fangs sank into her throat, Zephyr Moon ignited.
The witch caves were suddenly engulfed in flame. Neither Zephyr nor Sunflower believed in Hell (Hell was a Christian concept, witches believed in a more complicated and layered spirit world which was morally gray) but it was impossible not to envision the flames of Hell all around them. Fire licked the trees and lava exploded from the caves. Azazel choked on the smoke and stared at the stake in confusion.
The remaining ropes snapped off Zephyr as she stepped towards Azazel. Her eyes had gone completely red and she walked through the fire untouched. Spaniel-sized lizards frolicked at her feet, each the color white and azure flames—salamanders, conjured from Zephyr’s fiery rage.
“Release her.”
Zephyr’s voice was as harsh as wildfire, filled with smoke and power. It so startled Azazel the chimaera-esque beast dropped Sunflower like a sack of potatoes.
She lifted her arm and the flaming salamanders surged. The strange creatures fully covered every single misshapen head and opened their ember jaws. Zephyr watched expressionless as the salamanders fully devoured Azazel. The dragon monstrosity suddenly shrank into a pitiful black goat that bleated “Mercy! MERCY!” until the salamanders reached its head.
Then…only ash remained.
As soon as the demon was fully obliterated, the salamanders went out, like a blown-out birthday candle. The flames vanished into the ground and the lava cooled into black rock, certain to confuse local geologists for eons to come.
Zephyr ran to her mother. Sunflower’s throat was punctured, but the bite was small. She marshalled the last vestiges of strength and placed her lips on her mother’s neck. She sucked–although a myth humans can suck venom out, witches are able to extract dark energy from anything living. One, two, three, spit, one, two, three, spit, one, two, three, spit…her mother’s eyes fluttered open.
“Hey mommy,” Zephyr said softly. “Are you okay?”
Sunflower strained to sit up. “Did—did you do all this?!” Her eyes went wide at the blackened witch caves. Zephyr patted her mother’s back, retrieving an embroidered handkerchief from her pocket. Sunflower coughed noisily into it.
Zephyr joined her in staring. “Yeah. I guess I did.”
“Sam! Sam!”
Samael acted like he didn’t hear her. He strode forward in a determined manner, but Emerie was fairly certain he hadn’t the foggiest idea where he was going.
“Sam.” She caught up with him. “Dude, you forgot your sword.”
He glared at her. “Put that down, Emerie.”
“I can’t leave a giant-ass sword in the middle of the street,” she argued. “That’s dangerous. Someone could trip on it or a little kid could find it or something—”
“Humans can’t pick it up,” Samael said loftily.
Emerie glanced at her seemingly human hand, which held the sword easily.
“Well, they’re not supposed to,” Samael snapped. “This thing is just being contrary. I’m not taking it, Emerie.”
“But didn’t you say it was yours?”
“I said it was taken away from me, which means it isn’t mine anymore.”
“Well,” Emerie said reasonably, turning the sword over in her hands. “Whoever took it away from you seems to have given it back.”
Samael was quiet for a long moment. His expression hardened and he continued to walk forward.
“Hey!” Emerie fumbled with the sword’s weight. “Don’t get all broody and tortured on me. Despite what the YA books say, it’s not a good look.”
Samael sighed. “I just…I don’t want it, okay?”
“Well, you saved my life with it.” Emerie examined the sword, tracing an index finger over the designs on the pommel. “Speaking of which—who was the cranky chick that tried to Indiana Jones me to death?”
He blinked at her. “What?”
“The snakes.” Emerie deadpanned. “Who the hell was that?”
To her surprise, Samael looked incredibly uncomfortable. “Um…that was Lilith. She, uh…she wanted to talk to me. She doesn’t like being interrupted.”
“Clearly. You know her? What did she want?”
Samael reached forward and took the sword from Emerie. In one fluid motion, he chucked it like a javelin. It sailed through the air and landed with a splash in the town square fountain.
“Make a wish,” Emerie suggested.
“I wish to never see that stupid sword again,” Samael grumbled. “Yes, I know Lilith. From a long time ago. We…were uh….”
Emerie stopped walking. “Involved? You dated?”
He wrinkled. “Demons don’t date, Emerie. We…well…”
“I think I get the picture.” Emerie radiated disapproval. “Well. She seems lovely. I see what you saw in her. Truly, she is the epitome of charm and grace.”
“She’s no worse than Dylan!” Samael growled in irritation. The sword had reappeared in his hand.
Emerie looked at him like he was crazy. “Are you seriously comparing my occasionally inconsiderate boyfriend with a demon chick that set a bunch of snakes on me?!”
“All I’m saying is they have similar personalities. Selfish. Inconsiderate. Unwilling to compromise.” Samael flung the sword again. This time, it stuck itself neatly into the Baptist church steeple, much like a dart on a dartboard.
“Similar personalities?!” Emerie put her hands on her hips in outrage. “She summoned snakes from the earth and launched them at my face.”
“Undoubtedly—” Samael began to walk and roared in frustration as the sword, once again, appeared in his hand. “Undoubtedly, Dylan would be just as keen to exorcise me as Lilith was to destroy you. I don’t want the sword, take it back!”
“Are you honestly comparing Dylan not liking haunted houses to Lilith sending her fanged minions after me?!” Emerie said incredulously. “That is the most ridiculous false equivalency—oh my God, Samael, stop throwing the sword, it’s just going to come right back!”
This time, he had flung the sword high in the air. It pierced the clouds and disappeared from sight—maybe he aimed for the ocean. It became a speck in the distance and Emerie watched with a raised brow. Before she could say anything, Samael grabbed her arm and rushed away from the town square. Before Emerie quite knew what was happening, they had lifted off into the air.
She gasped and Samael’s arms grasped under her legs, so he was carrying her. Emerie watched the town become miniature and choked as Samael flew through a cloud.
Under other circumstances, this could be rather enchanting. She could see the patchwork of autumn colors across Milton, the rolling green hills, and St. Julian’s lit like a tiny dollhouse. But Emerie was too startled to really enjoy it and Samael flew like a drunk peregrine falcon. He nearly dropped her twice.
The Superman films have it wrong, she thought to herself grumpily, realizing she was completely soaked because Sam kept flying through clouds. She sank her fingernails into his arms for a better grip and he hissed in pain. This is not romantic, this is TERRIFYING.
He landed before her driveway with a thump and she scrambled out of his arms. Her heart was hammering against her chest and she glared at him. Samael didn’t seem to notice, he was exhaling in relief.
“There,” he said with satisfaction. “Now, we just—”
Emerie pointed. The sword had reappeared once more, this time in a nifty sheath attached to his belt.
“DAMN IT!”
Samael whirled towards her, as though it were her fault. But instead of raging about the sword, “Why are you even with him?”
Emerie was still reacquainting herself with gravity and trying not to throw up. “I’m sorry?”
“Dylan. Why are you with him? I’ve watched you guys for months. You don’t enjoy each other’s company, you don’t have much in common, and you seem to have pretty different ideas of where your life is headed. What are you both doing?”
Samael, the relationship therapist. Geez. He sounded like her grandfather. Ji-Ji had met Dylan once, on a rare holiday excursion he’d taken while she was in college and had not been impressed. He pretended not to speak English the entire time and called him saru—a monkey who preened.
They had all the same classes together freshman year. Emerie and Dylan became so used to walking with each other and spending time together, it was only natural they became involved. They charmed each other as students—but when it came time to move on…Emerie realized she couldn’t come up with a good answer.
“We just…we love each other.” She shifted uncomfortably, trying not to think of the awkwardness of their most recent conversations.
Samael snorted. “When was the last time you had sex?”
Emerie gasped. “What does that have to do with anything? And also—none of your business!”
“You’ve been in that house for months, and I’ve never seen either of you—”
SMACK!
Emerie looked as shocked as Samael at the decisive slap. Her cheeks were stained pink and she looked simultaneously regretful and defiant.
“That,” she took a deep breath, “is none of your business. Sex doesn’t equal love. Furthermore, I can’t believe you’d watch—”
Samael snatched her wrist and pulled her to him. His eyes blazed as he spoke in a husky whisper.
“What do you think I am, Emerie? Do you think I’m a little harmless lamb at your beck and call? I told you from the beginning exactly what I was, through the Ouija board. Of course I’d observe a beautiful woman and her lover. Though I’d hardly call him that. Not once did you do anything in that glorious bed but sleep.”
Emerie stared at him, remembering the Ouija board conversation. Part Incubus…a demon of seduction. Of sex. She shivered at the intensity of his gaze.
“We’ve been busy.” She hated how feeble her voice sounded. “It’s been stressful since we moved…”
He smiled that terribly lazy smile, the one that made her feel like the ground was falling underneath her. “I can think of a lot of ways to relieve stress.”
His clawed hand still clasped her wrist. Was he trying to keep her from slapping him again? Her whole body shuddered under his stare. Finally, after a beat, she wrenched herself away from him.
“Come on,” she muttered. “We need to find Father Zebulun and Zephyr.”
TWENTY
The Milton Public Library had an impressive statue out front to greet patrons. A giant marble lion sank its dagger-length teeth into an enormous serpent that coiled around its mane and torso. It was one of the oldest sculptures in Milton and no one quite knew where it came from. The librarians told curious visitors it depicted a scene from an obscure medieval romance. Various religious groups believed it depicted an epic struggle between good and evil. But most Miltonians thought it represented two baseball teams that no longer existed.
Whatever the reason, no one expected the giant stone lion and serpent to suddenly come alive.
Father Zebulun hadn’t separated from the group long before he heard a sudden screaming west of him. For a moment, he paid it no mind, attributing it to the dunking tank that was usually set up outside the library for the Harvest Festival. But when he heard the thunderous roar, he knew immediately something was very, very wrong.
He withdrew a crossbow from his long jacket and took off toward the library, sidestepping the panicked townspeople running in the opposite direction.
There was good reason for this. The priest had never seen anything quite like it (and he had seen a lot.) The lion was certainly alive; it prowled in the front courtyard, tail twitching ominously. But it still seemed to be made of stone…every stride it made, Father Zebulun heard the scraping of cement. Its feet pounded along the courtyard steps like concrete and its stone muscles moved with pantherish grace. Its blood-red eyes narrowed as it stalked and something that appeared to be acid dripped from its mouth, sizzling as it hit concrete. The living stone creature suddenly crouched low—the monster was about to pounce.
The priest didn’t ask questions. He raised his crossbow and shot.
The arrow landed with a satisfying thunk in the giant lion’s thigh, but the creature looked at Father Zebulun as though he were a bothersome fly. Father Zebulun didn’t waste another minute; he loosed another arrow and this time, it hit the monster directly in the eye.
