Chapter 11
BATS IN THE BELFRY
MURMUR SNAPPED OUT HIS WINGS TO SLOW HIS FLIGHT and then landed lightly onto the courtyard outside his castle. The black stone gleamed with streaks of red. The sky was finally brightening, the long night coming to a close.
There wasn’t a single sign of life around him. Nothing so much as breathed. But it didn’t matter what his eyes saw. His nape prickled, and he checked over his shoulder. Twice.
Of course there was no one there. There never was. No one his eyes could see anyway. But he was starting to fear that what his eyes told him wasn’t proof enough.
Not believing your own eyes anymore? You’re truly losing it. It’s only a matter of time before you crack completely.
“That isn’t news,” he replied to himself, striding through the barren courtyard.
So he was paranoid and possibly insane. Could one blame him after being haunted by dreams of his own death every time he closed his eyes?
After being regularly sideswiped by visions of the future for millennia?
After listening to the screams of haunted souls in his mind at all hours, never having a moment’s peace?
He’d just been to check his territory wards.
He had recently caught Raum sneaking around the perimeter after the demon had somehow gotten himself conscripted by Heaven into stealing The Book of Gamigin.
He’d failed, of course, but he had managed to escape Murmur’s dungeon with the help of an angel.
Afterward, Raum had returned with an adequate peace offering—the dismembered body of the archangel Raphael—and a promise never to return, but the experience had left Murmur more trepidatious than ever.
His paranoia was not unjustified. He was secretly plotting the downfall of the High King of Hell. If Lucifer got so much as a whiff of what he was up to, he would storm Murmur’s gates with a fury beyond anything he could withstand. Even his army of souls couldn’t protect him.
The fact that Murmur had lasted as long as he had was a miracle in itself.
Every time he attempted his spell, there was a disturbance in the High King’s magical defenses.
He was sure the only reason Lucifer hadn’t figured out what was happening yet was because he’d grown complacent, drunk off power and the illusion of indestructibility.
Murmur had always been a recluse. Only the foolish dared disturb the Necromancer who lurked in his lonely lair, sealed behind powerful wards, decimating intruders with his ghostly army.
But everything had changed once he’d had the vision of the blood-born twins who would cause Paimon’s downfall. It was the Queen of Hell who’d jumpstarted Murmur’s slow slide into insanity, and he had sworn to take vengeance upon her ever since surviving her creative torture.
His mind may have been splintered, but he never forgot, and he never forgave.
He smiled to himself, picturing the look on Paimon’s face if she could see him now, sitting at the top of her tower, commanding her minions.
Too bad she was currently somewhere deep underground, being digested by a gorath.
And when the enormous centipede-like monster shit her out, she would regenerate in its feces, only for another to scent her flesh and eat her again.
She wasn’t dead. But some fates were worse than death.
But now, as time ran out like the final grains of sand in an hourglass, his smugness at Paimon’s fall was irrelevant. He had far bigger problems to think about.
Paimon had been Lucifer’s most powerful and loyal supporter, and though it was known that the Hunter was the one to defeat her, when Murmur had taken her lair, he’d lost the obscurity he’d maintained throughout the ages. He’d become a threat.
How long until Lucifer got suspicious about what Murmur was up to in his new lair? How long until he had the presence of mind to check his defenses and sensed traces of the Necromancer’s magic among them?
What if he already had? What if he was using his considerable power to spy on Murmur right now, plotting his attack at this very moment?
Murmur stopped and spun around, scowling at the dark courtyard around him. The dark, empty courtyard. But in his mind, it was crawling with spies, creatures hidden in the shadows, watching him—
“Stop this madness,” he snarled at himself, spinning back around and forcing his feet forward. “This isn’t the time to entertain delusions.”
The spies could be there. Lurking in the shadows, watching you right now.
“They’re not and you know it.”
Lucifer could already be onto you. He could know everything you’re doing.
“Be quiet, you incessant nag.”
Well aware that he was insulting himself, he reached the grand entrance to the castle and gripped the ring handles, throwing the towering doors wide. Before him was the grand hall where Paimon had once sat upon her throne, her demon camel steed by her side.
Now it was empty.
Murmur had no desire to sit upon a throne or throw torture parties and delight in the humiliation of the disobedient.
The disobedient were disposed of and forgotten.
He didn’t have time to spare with them. The hall had been empty since his takeover, and Paimon’s vacant throne upon the dais did nothing but collect dust.
He bypassed the entire room, heading down a runner rug toward the exit at the far end.
“Master,” the gargoyles guarding the doors greeted as he approached. He’d placed a rotating shift at every entrance since that angel had infiltrated his lair to liberate Raum from the dungeons.
The demons bowed deeply, and he paused before passing through. “Anything from the scouts to report?” he asked. These guards were also tasked with collecting information from all the others in order to update him.
“Nothing, Master. The territory is quiet.”
Murmur’s mouth twisted as he accepted this response. If Lucifer’s spies were there, some measly scouts wouldn’t detect them.
“But my souls would,” he muttered.
Would they?
Silencing the mental voice with a shake of his head, he pushed open the doors and continued down another long hall. Offshoots led to passages underground and to the other towers in the castle.
Many of his minions roomed in those towers, and he never disturbed their spaces.
He had no desire to witness whatever slovenly hovels they occupied.
So long as they obeyed orders when he gave them, he was content to leave them to their own devices.
If he had his way, he wouldn’t have legions at all. He preferred to be alone.
He took a turn and finally reached the entrance to his tower, the doors to which were guarded by another two gargoyles. They greeted him with subservient bows.
He stopped. The demons he entrusted with his tower security were ones who had managed to impress him with mild competency.
It was well known throughout the lair that no one was to enter the master’s tower, and those he entrusted with sentry duty knew never to abuse their privilege and encroach on his privacy.
The only demons allowed regular access to the tower were his cleaning staff, who came to change the linens, launder his clothes, and bring water to wash. But even they were forbidden from entering the library and were always careful to leave firewood and lantern fuel outside the door.
“Is there something you need, Master?” one of the guards asked as they straightened from their bows. Murmur usually blasted past them without a second glance, so he forgave them their question.
He couldn’t believe he was about to do this.
“Which one of you went to Earth the first time to procure food and water?”
One of the demons straightened. A red-skinned gargoyle a good two feet shorter than Murmur. “It was I, sir.”
Demons were only allowed to visit Earth when a King or Queen of Hell assigned them a human to influence, whose soul was ripe for corruption and thus claimable for the Nine Rings upon their death. Failure to comply with the rules resulted in punishment from Heaven.
The entire rivalry between Heaven and Hell struck Murmur as a complete waste of time, and he wanted no part in it. He didn’t give a flying fuck about humans and their precious immortal souls.
And he’d stopped giving a flying fuck about the rules a while ago, too. After seeing Belial and his brothers make a life for themselves outside of the system, he’d become less wary of being caught. He could get away with a few short trips, and so could his minions.
“You will return to Earth and gather more food,” he told the gargoyle. “And you will procure … clothing.” He winced. Just speaking it aloud was embarrassing.
The demon blinked. “Clothing, sir?”
“Clothing for a human female roughly this size.” He held his hand up to just below his chest, where the top of Suyin’s head was when she stood beside him. Why he remembered that precise detail when he could scarcely remember to dress himself properly was a mystery.
“Black clothing,” he added. From his time hunting Suyin, he’d learned that almost everything she owned was that color. Why he cared what color she wore, he couldn’t have said to save his life.
Indeed, both guards looked at him like he’d lost his mind. But they were smart enough not to ask questions. That was why he’d chosen them as his tower guards. “Yes, Master.”
“When you return with the items, give them to the cleaning staff. They’ll know what to do.”
“Yes, Master.”
Without another word, Murmur swept through the doors into the spiraling stairwell. Forming his wings, he took flight, ascending the tower. It was awkward trying to fly straight upward, but it was still much faster than walking.
He landed on the stairs below Suyin’s chambers. Folding and disappearing his wings, he started up the remaining steps, only to pause briefly and glance at the entrance opposite the gorath statue.
He wondered what the rooms were like now that Suyin had been living in them for a few days. Had she uncovered all the furniture? Did the bedsheets carry her scent now?