Demon and the Fox - 26. How to Kill a Demon

Rebecca met Hell’s new leader in a room with shimmering silver walls and a round glass table. She knew he went by Raven. Clad in a slim black blazer with his black jeans tucked in Doc Martens boots, he stood next to a black tinted window, in between two massive filing cabinets. Rebecca’s heels clicked the marble floor as she approached him.

“I’m Rebecca, leader of the Angels,” she said, holding up a hand, “I hear you’re in charge now. Congratulations.”

Raven accepted her hand. But instead of shaking it, he brought it to his lips and kissed the back of her knuckles.

“I know who you are,” he said, releasing her hand.

His face was a well-crafted, unreadable mask hiding deep emotions that weren’t stirred very often; Rebecca could tell. She knew that face—she used it sometimes, too. And Raven’s dark blue eyes weren’t unlike her own; oceans upon oceans full of rich tales to tell.

Raven added, “I’ve heard a lot about you.” His tone was soft, but there was something repressed about it. He seemed a bit on edge.

She could detect a French accent, though she doubted not very many people could. The same way few people knew where she was from originally.

“And I,” Rebecca said, “about you.”

Her gaze fell upon the filing cabinets. She had heard Raven was a chronicler. He liked to write his own history books, his own version of things. From the twelfth century’s Crusades to now, including depictions of every city he was a Reaper in over time, every event he witnessed. And surely he spoke of people he met—people, and demons. Rebecca had also heard Raven seldom let anyone read his work.

She wondered if what she needed was somewhere in those files.

They sat together at the table. The glass chairs were peculiar. It was as though you were sitting in invisible seats. Raven had some folded maps and documents placed in front of him. He gathered those in a pile and set them aside. Rebecca crossed her legs, her eyes darting back up to meet Raven’s.

“I’ve been waiting for this moment my whole life,” said Raven. She could tell he meant every word.

Rebecca smiled. “I’m flattered.” But she hadn’t called this meeting to listen to someone’s flattery, however sincere.

Out the tinted windows, she saw that a storm was preparing. Dark clouds gathered. What would it be this time? She wondered. Snow, rain, or something in between—hail, perhaps?

The Higher Demons are bored, thought Rebecca. She didn’t blame them. Eternity could be tedious at times.

Right now she was far from bored, though. Right now she was driven. She was playing a game against a rakish demon. And Rebecca liked to win.

“I have so many questions.” Raven ran long pale fingers through his thick black hair. “I need to know the truth. I need answers. Why are people sent where they are sent?” The mask of indifference was starting to break as Raven dropped his arms onto the glass table with a thump. “There has to be a reason. I fought in the Crusades, Rebecca. A long time ago. But you don’t forget war. You never forget. The scars fade but they don’t. Not really. I gave my life up back then. Died too young. Left my family behind. I never saw them again. I—I like to think they’re in Heaven. But why did I wake up here? I could never understand. I ventured to Purgatory, I was a Guard there for a while. But I couldn’t make sense of it, either. Couldn’t find answers there.” Raven took a deep breath, but it was shaky. “You’re my last hope,” he said. “The leader of the Angels. You must answer directly to God. You must know the truth.”

Raven’s emotions were clearly stirred now, probably more than ever, and Rebecca was surprised to feel a pang as well. Something about Raven’s words resonated deep within. She hadn’t felt this kind of pain in a long time. This poignant loneliness. This longing for a long lost past, and the memories that came with it, locked far away in the heart of her sins.

She was almost distracted from her goal. Almost.

Rebecca gathered herself, smoothing her hair over one shoulder.

“Listen carefully, Raven.” And oh, he was. She said, “Let us meet again another time. And I give you my word, all your questions shall be answered. But today, I need something from you.”

Raven’s expression went from disappointment to curiosity, then keenness.

“Of course, whatever you need.”

She leaned her forearms onto the glass table, the same way Raven did, and joined her fingers. Their hands were almost touching. She looked up.

“I need the spell to destroy a demon completely. Not send them to Purgatory. Kill them utterly. With no hope of ever coming back.”

Raven frowned. “Must you go through the trouble? Whoever it is, I can send them to the Purgatory Fires for you.”

“The demon in question is a—how should I word this?—a sly bastard. Somehow I believe he would find a way to survive even the Fires.”

“No one can survive—”

“Raven, excuse my rudeness, but I’m in a bit of a hurry. Do you have the spell or not? I used to know it, but I forgot the details. When you’re around for such a long while—well, you know. I went through some dead witch’s old spell books but couldn’t find it. I’m counting on you here.”

Rebecca had leafed through Lilya Koval Reed’s grimoire, only to find that the one page she needed had been ripped. Not without a tinge of amusement, she suspected that was Shay’s doing.

“Of course,” Raven said, “I apologize.” He reached for the pile of documents and produced a blank page and a fountain pen. “I don’t have the spell, but I don’t need it. I know it by heart. Let me write it down for you. Would that please you?”

“It would, indeed.”

Raven scribbled the spell’s details quickly, but in a fine handwriting. Then he handed her the paper.

She felt a thrill, along with a twinge of impatience.

“I must go, now.” She rose from the chair. “We’ll see each other again soon.”

Raven rose as well, standing a few inches taller than Rebecca, even with her heels.

He said, “I look forward to it.”

“And I, as well,” Rebecca replied. “As soon as I’m finished with this small… inconvenience.”

***

Sasha had not moved from where she’d left him. He lay on the couch in the middle of the wrecked living room. Malachy hadn’t cleaned up much since the night of the Full Moon. The shattered turntable was still on the floor, and so were the books and DVDs that had been yanked from their shelves. Added to the cracked white paint, creaking floors, broken coffee table and ceiling lamp that wouldn’t flick on—it seemed someone had forgotten to pay the electricity bill—Nicholas Russell’s apartment in Hell’s Kitchen had turned into quite the spooky setting.

Rebecca pushed open the living room curtains to let the sunlight wash over the room. It was a beautiful day; May had always been her favorite month.

“Wake up, Sasha,” she said as she turned around.

The bright daylight caressed Sasha’s skin as he stirred. It accentuated the dark circles under his green eyes, and the hollow of his cheeks. Sasha was too skinny. He was floating in those clothes that Jared boy had lent him a few days ago.

Sasha looked beyond weak. The bite wounds on his arms hadn’t healed much. Rebecca suspected the ones under his clothes weren’t in a much better state. Sasha was a stubborn one; he had refused to eat every time the werewolf hunters offered.

Well, Rebecca thought, as long as he stays alive long enough to do my spell.

She held up the piece of paper as she stepped closer, the knocked over coffee table the only thing separating her from Sasha.

An image flashed through her mind, of Malachy, wearing the body of another, sitting on that very couch, glass of scotch in hand, flirting with her. She tasted bitterness in her mouth as her mind chose to recall Malachy’s true form instead. The sparkling blue-gray eyes, the devilish smirk, the awkward but endearing movements. Graceful in his own way. There had been troubling passion in the way he’d touched her, and the promise of never being bored again.

Just leave me alone, Rebecca. I got what I wanted from you. Get out of my life. I just wish to be with Hazel.

Rebecca almost crumpled the piece of paper in her fist, but then she remembered she needed that to destroy Malachy. She took a deep breath to calm herself. She needed the spell, and she needed a witch. Or the son of a witch. Next best thing, she supposed.

“You freed me,” Sasha said in a voice so raspy it sounded like he’d just smoked ten cigarettes. “Where am I? How’d I get here?” He curled up on the couch and hugged his knees, like he was cold. Even though it was warm in the apartment.

“I brought you here,” she explained. “The werewolf hunters failed and ran away. I’m pretty sure Jared would have gone back to that motel to finish you off before leaving town, but I wasn’t going to let that happen.”

“Thank you,” Sasha breathed. He was very pale.

Rebecca looked away and started to pace the room, still holding up the piece of paper Raven had given her.

The floor creaked loudly under her stilettos.

“I went through your mother’s books, you know. I couldn’t find the spell I needed. A page was ripped.” She smiled without looking at Sasha. “Your mother had a spirit guide. Someone like me. His name was Shay. I’m certain Shay ripped that page. I think,” she said, “Shay was trying to protect Malachy. And Malachy has no idea. He thinks everyone hates him. He hides in other people’s bodies to find love. How pathetic is that?” She let out a dry laugh. “But clearly, even after all this time, someone still cares. But Malachy will never know.”

Sasha looked confused. Well, of course he did. Rebecca had gotten a bit carried away there.

“Anyway.” She stepped around the broken table and placed the precious piece of paper into Sasha’s waiting hand. “This is the spell you need to destroy Malachy completely. Not,” she added, “just banish him the way your mother did. To end him. This is the spell Shay never wanted your mother to find. Do you understand?”

“I don’t know who the hell Shay is, and I don’t care,” said Sasha. “But I do understand.”

“Fair enough,” Rebecca smiled. “All that matters is that Shay isn’t here to protect Malachy now. This is your chance.”

Sasha’s pale eyes were reading the spell. Rebecca knew what was written on there, and she expected Sasha to falter, or protest. But he did neither.

He just clutched the paper tight, tighter than Rebecca had before. And he looked up at her, his jaw set. Dark blonde hair framed his face in tangled strands. Even broken and hurt, Sasha Reed was a beautiful person. Strange thing, Rebecca thought, how Shay’s fine traits had traveled across so many generations and reappeared in an almost perfect replica in his descendant’s genes.

“I’ll do it,” Sasha said.

What shocked Rebecca the most was how relentless Sasha’s hatred for Malachy was. How deep that hatred must run indeed, if it had broken through the locked door she had erected in Sasha’s young mind to block away all memories.

“If you do this, you must do it right,” she instructed. “You should find your cell phone in the bedroom down the hall. The one with all the,” she waved a hand, “pony-themed decor. I took the liberty to charge it for you. You’ll find Nicholas’s number—Malachy’s number—in that phone. I need you to call him. Or text him, I suppose.” The young ones never answered their phones in the twenty first century, Rebecca remembered. But, they were always texting.

“Text him what?”

Rebecca smirked. “I’ll tell you exactly what to say to lure him here. But your timing must be impeccable. When he gets here, you need to be ready to do the spell.”

Sasha narrowed his eyes. “I’ll be ready.”