Chapter 35 #2
“That’s it?” Belial asked. “We’re square? Just like that?”
“Yes.”
“So I could kill you right now, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”
“Precisely. Especially because I lost my entire soul army when I died. I’m utterly defenseless at the moment.”
Belial blinked. Yes, it was shameful for a demon to admit he was defenseless, but this was important, damn it.
“Well, shit,” Belial said, slumping back in the chair.
“Indeed,” Murmur replied.
“Sorry about your skin,” Belial said in a tone that implied he wasn’t sorry at all.
Murmur looked at himself. His arms were charred, and his torso hadn’t fared much better. It was a good thing he’d braided his hair earlier, or he would have lost most of it.
“Sorry for stabbing you,” he replied in a tone that made it clear he wasn’t sorry either.
Belial stood. “All right, Necromancer. You’ve got your alliance. But don’t think I don’t realize that you need my help as much as I need yours. If Lucifer knows that I opened that door, he also knows that it was your magic that broke the seal and got me there in the first place.”
“I’m aware,” Murmur said.
“You need to build your own allies or Lucifer’s going to finish the job I started of turning you into hamburger meat. And he won’t stop when you ask nicely.”
“I’m also aware,” he said wryly.
“Fuck with me and my brothers again, in any way—and that includes twisting our words, lies of omission, manipulating us, withholding important shit to maintain the advantage, whatever—and I will throw this tenuous alliance of yours right out the window and kill you myself. Is that clear?”
“Fine.” Murmur rolled his eyes.
“And don’t chain my brothers up again, even if they trespass.”
He made a face. “Raum tried to steal from me.”
“Don’t care. We’re allies now. What’s mine is yours and vice versa.”
“Fine,” he bit out.
“Good.” Belial smiled. He seemed much happier now that he’d regained the upper hand.
Murmur ground his teeth. This will be a challenge. His ego is so big, I can taste it, and it’s bitter.
“Now,” Murmur said, “I do believe Suyin would like it if we got out of her house.”
He spoke casually, but it was only to hide the fact that the thought of leaving her hurt worse than Belial melting his skin.
Funny things, emotions. Invisible and intangible, they cut deeper than any blade, and they left wounds one might never recover from.
After trying in vain to fix the front door and then offering to pay to replace it, Belial left. Suyin got the impression that he was used to breaking and repairing stuff.
When both Iris and Murmur had told her about Belial, they hadn’t mentioned that he turned into a giant flaming rage tornado. She damn well could have used the warning.
While Murmur had talked Belial down from his murderous rage, Suyin had hidden in the living room. It was a perfectly adequate survival response, since there was nothing she could’ve done against an eight-foot-tall demon with murder on the brain, but she was still annoyed at herself.
Luckily, Murmur had managed to defuse the situation while revealing some very interesting information that she was still processing.
She was still processing a lot of shit, but underneath it all, there was an underlying hurt in her heart that wouldn’t go away.
And it worsened every time she looked into Murmur’s eyes.
The sheer scale of his plans baffled her. He’d been organizing this for centuries, and he hadn’t told a soul. She couldn’t help but think about how difficult it must have been for him to manage plans of that scale while fighting the instability in his own mind.
She’d never met a more incredible person. From the moment they’d met, his intelligence and determination had amazed her. She’d learned more from him in their short time together than she ever could’ve imagined, and every instance he’d offered her a peek into his mind had felt like a precious gift.
But it still didn’t change what he’d done, and it didn’t make it any easier to trust him now. Unfortunately for them, there were no debts he could nullify to prove a point as he’d done for Belial.
The only way for Murmur to regain her trust was if she chose to give him a second chance. And Suyin had never been good at forgiveness.
After Belial departed, she grabbed a mop, and Murmur helped her clean up the remains of the necromancy spell.
When that was done, Murmur inscribed a fresh hellgate on the floor, and she stood back and watched him work.
He drew the hell-gate as easily as she wrote her own name, and, after all those hours in his library, it occurred to Suyin that this would be her last chance to marvel at his skill.
He stood, setting the chalk down among her casting supplies, and then turned to face her. The gate was already activated; she could sense its subtle pulse of magic.
She tried to ignore the sadness and regret in his eyes—eyes that had returned to their normal color after he’d woken up. She tried to harden her heart against him. Trust was everything, and there was none between them. It had to be this way.
“This can’t be goodbye,” he said.
“It has to be.”
He shook his head.
“It is, Murmur.”
He looked so fucking miserable, it gutted her. But he’d brought this on himself, she reminded herself for the hundredth time. She had no choice.
Just to prove it to herself, she went over to the desk and scooped up the pile of books he’d given her. “Here. You’re not dead anymore, so you can have your books back.”
He looked affronted, stepping out of her reach. “Those were a gift to you.”
“Yeah, when you were dead. You also gave me your entire library.”
“It’s still yours.”
She blinked. “You can’t give me your library, Murmur. You need it.”
He shook his head. “Not anymore. My work is complete. Yours is just beginning. I want you to have it.”
“I can’t—Murmur, I’m not going back there. I can’t—” Her voice broke, and she shook her head roughly. Fuck, this was hard. “Keep your library. I’ll keep these books.” She turned and set them back on the desk. “Deal?”
He just looked sad.
If he didn’t leave soon, she was going to break, and there was no way that was happening. So when he took a step toward her, she took one back, keeping space between them.
He flinched. He brought this on himself, she repeated over and over. I can’t forgive him. I can’t trust him.
“Goodbye, Murmur,” she whispered through the squeezing tightness in her throat.
“This isn’t goodbye,” he said firmly, and then with one last look, he stepped into the hellgate and disappeared.
She hurried forward and smudged the line before she could think twice and do something stupid like go after him.
Alone, she surveyed her empty living room and decided everything that had happened here was a pretty good metaphor for her life.
Her heart, specifically. Only, if her heart had been sacrificed, there was no necromancy to bring it back to life.
All she felt in its place was a cold, vacant, aching hole.
She tried to chastise herself out of her misery.
She was back home, alive and well. There were no more demon stalkers, feelings of foreboding, or haunting, prophetic dreams. She had all the answers she’d sought about herself, and she had a fresh stack of grimoires with plenty more to learn.
She was bursting with new knowledge to share with the coven.
She had resolved her friendship with Iris, and they were closer than ever.
And most importantly … Murmur’s spell had succeeded. Her father’s soul was freed, reunited with her mother’s in the afterlife. She could finally make peace with what had happened to him, knowing he, too, was at peace.
It was everything she’d wanted, and she should have been happy.
Should have … but wasn’t. Not even remotely.
She sank into the sofa and stared at the wall ahead.
Her face was blank. Her chest hurt like a motherfucker.
A tear formed in the corner of one eye, so she swiped it away.
Another formed in the other eye, so she swiped that away too.
All of a sudden, too many tears were forming, and she couldn’t wipe them away quickly enough.
Her vision blurred until the wall in front of her disappeared altogether.
She let them fall until they dried up. And when she was done, she stood up again, and told herself that was it. That was all she was going to let herself cry over this.
But that didn’t mean the pain was gone, no. She didn’t think that would ever go away.