The Price of Brimstone Read online

  “What bad things, Judith?”

  “You know. How sometimes Mommy takes you to the airport so you can go to other places and scare the bad things away. Like that. Do you make them run and run and run until they’re all tired out and then they have to go to sleep?”

  “Where did you get an idea like that?”

  “Russell says you exercise them. They don’t like it, do they?”

  He lifts me up onto his lap, and he’s laughing but I don’t know why. “You’ve got it mixed up, goose. I think you misunderstood your brother. What I do is exorcise evil spirits. That means to get rid of them...cast them out and send them away where they can't do any more harm. The two words sound almost exactly alike, don’t they? But it’s not the same thing.”

  “Oh.” I play with the small round button on his cuff, twisting it back and forth. “But what do they look like? The bad things. Are they big and scary, like monsters?”

  “Most of the time they don’t look like anything. You can’t even see them, because they don’t have bodies of their own. Not in this world. That’s why they like to get inside other people, vulnerable people, so they can stir up all kinds of trouble.”

  “If you can’t see them, then how do you know they’re there?”

  “Oh, they like to make themselves known.”

  “You said most of the time.”

  “Well...there are the others.”

  “What others?”

  “The hybrids. Cambions. Half-human offspring of demons. They're a rare breed, thank God, very rare. But they do exist. These are born into their own physical forms.”

  “So I could see them?”

  “You could see them, yes. Only you wouldn’t recognize them. To you, they would look like any other person.”

  “But not to you.”

  “No. Not to me.”

  “Because you’re special, right?”

  “We’re all special in our own way, goose.”

  “What do they look like to you? All hairy and gross with big teeth?”

  “I've never actually seen one myself. But they are rumored to be very beautiful. Almost like angels. Only not on the inside, where it counts. Inside they’re all mean and ugly.”

  “Like Josh van Buren?”

  “Who’s Josh van Buren?”

  “This boy in my class. He picks his nose and chases us around with boogers on his finger. He makes all the girls scream and then Miss Wechsler gets mad. I think he must be very ugly inside to be so yucky. I don't like boogers. They're gross.”

  Again, my father shakes all over with laughter. “Let’s hope he outgrows that.”

  “Do you think Josh could be one of the bad things?”

  “No. I think he’s just trying to get attention. A dozen years from now, he’ll probably be asking you out on dates.”

  “Eww!”

  “Yeah…eww.”

  “But you would know if you saw him, wouldn’t you? You'd know for sure?”

  “Yes. I would know.”

  “How, though? How would you know? If they look like regular people, how can you tell?”

  “Well, if they're anything like the hosts of demonic spirits, then it would be in their eyes.”

  “Oh.” I consider this for a moment. “So their eyes look different to you?”

  “Exactly. You see, a person possessed has the emptiest eyes you could imagine. You've seen pictures of sharks, right? To me, their eyes look a lot like that. No emotion. No warmth. Just a cold, vast void.” He frowns, but he isn't looking at me anymore. He's staring into the fireplace, the way Russ sometimes stares into space when he's studying for a test. I guess that's because he's thinking really hard.

  “It's said that eyes are the mirror of the soul.” I almost can't hear him, he's speaking so quietly. “I believe there must be some truth to that. Because these people...when their souls are suppressed, they have eyes like a blank slate.”

  I turn my head to peer into the orange flames, but all I see is a warm, crackling fire. Why is he staring at it so hard? Is there something there? Would he tell me if there was? For all I know there are monsters everywhere, and I just can't see them!

  “I’m scared,” I tell him, tugging at his sleeve anxiously. “What if there’s a bad thing and I don’t know? Will it catch me and take me away and hurt me?”

  “No!” Daddy hugs me close, and I bury my face in his arms. “No, baby. Never. You have nothing to worry about. Nothing is ever going to hurt you. Mommy and Daddy will always be here to protect you. Always.”

  Too bad there wasn't someone around to protect them. Because always turned out to be a lot shorter than any of us anticipated.

  Another rumble of thunder breaks the silence, though farther away and less angry. The storm is losing steam. Tiring itself out. Even Mother Nature has to take a breather sometimes.

  I shake my head, breaking free from the past so I can better understand what's going on here and now, in the very bizarre present.

  “No way,” I object. “Can't be. You know how rare those things are supposed to be.”

  “Do you think I'm making this shit up?”

  Feeling a hand on my shoulder, I look up to see Max standing just behind me. “He's telling the truth, kiddo.”

  “How would you know?” I snap. I'm starting to lose my temper, and not just because he's reverted to calling me by that stupid nickname again. I hated it ten years ago, and I hate it just as much today.

  No, it's mainly because my nerves are on edge. I don't want to believe that there's a grain of truth to any of this. I’d hoped, with the resilient optimism of youth, that it was all over. That the evil spirit possessing Claude Gilbert had slithered back into the dank pit of Hell where it belonged. That its lust for revenge had been satisfied. That I would never hear the word demon or any variation of it ever again.

  Frustrated, I lash out at him angrily. “You're an agnostic, for fuck's sake! You don't even believe in the devil! Since when are you willing to accept any of this?”

  “Since I saw what that thing is capable of.”

  “And just what is it capable of?” I glare at him, waiting to hear this great revelation that will explain everything.

  His only response is a shake of his head.

  “Trust me,” Russ answers for him. “You're better off not knowing.”

  Trust me. He keeps saying that. And I do, of course I do, I would trust him with my life. I'm just having a hard time accepting that while I've been off in Tulsa, working a perfectly normal job and living a perfectly normal life, everything here has apparently been going straight to shit.

  And I didn't have a clue.

  I look back and forth between them, at two pairs of haunted eyes, and rein in my irritation with a sigh. Lowering my voice, I calmly try to reason with my brother.

  “All I'm saying is, it just seems unlikely. That’s all. Think about it. What are the odds of randomly coming across a cambion way out here? Here, in the absolute center of nowhere. A town this size – what's the point?”

  “You really think it's a coincidence, Jude?”

  I stiffen, not liking the insinuation. “What are you saying?”

  The electricity snaps back to life, causing all three of us to jump like nervous cats. It would probably be funny if the whole situation wasn't so damn terrifying.

  “I'm saying...I don't know exactly. I don't know what its game is. Or why it's messing with me. But what I do know is that's exactly what it's doing – trying to fuck with me by hurting the people I care about.”

  “But why? What's its beef with you?”

  “Maybe someone down there is worried I'm going to try and pick up where Dad left off.”

  “Oh, you gotta be kidding me! Come on, that's crazy – you're not ordained, you wouldn't know how to perform an exorcism. You didn't even pay attention in church. You slept through Dad's sermons!”

  Most people think that only priests can perform exorcisms. Not so. Truth is, any truly devout man or woman can do it, so
long as they have a pure heart and are able to recite the Rituale Romanum word for word.

  The only thing Russ can recite word for word is dirty limericks. And I have my doubts about his purity.

  “If you have a better explanation, I'd love to hear it,” he says.

  “You want explanations from me? I don't even know what's going on!” Sliding my chair back, I get up and head for the locked door, determined to find out once and for all who – or what – they have trapped down there. “I want to see it.”

  Springing to his feet, Russ leaps between me and the door, blocking it with his body. “No. Nuh-uh. No way. Forget it.”

  “Get out of my way, Russell.”

  “You aren't going down there. End of story.”

  “Oh yes, I am.”

  “Over my dead body!”

  “You'd prefer I called the cops?”

  “Oh, come off it. You know you're not calling anyone.”

  “How can you be sure? For all I know, you've both totally checked out and you've got some poor innocent man chained up down there!”

  “You can't possibly believe that!”

  “Prove me wrong, then!”

  “I don't want that...that thing even knowing you're here!”

  “Too late for that,” Max points out logically. “It already saw her, remember?”

  “Show me, and I'll leave,” I suggest as a compromise. Naturally it's a snow job, considering I have no intention of going anywhere. But under the circumstances, I know it's the best way to finagle him into caving. “I'll drive back to Tulsa first thing in the morning. I'll be out of your hair. You won't have to worry about me.”

  He hesitates, just long enough for me to feel a twinge of guilt. I don't like lying to him. I've never been any good at lying to anyone. But I have to find out what's happening here. If he really is in danger, I have to find a way to help him.

  “You'll leave.” Understandably, he sounds dubious.

  “Tomorrow,” I promise. “Right after breakfast.”

  “And you won't breathe a word of this to anyone? Even Gabby?”

  “You seriously think I'd tell anyone?” I could just imagine the look on our grandmother's face. She'd have me in to see a psychiatrist faster than she can holler bingo!

  “I don't think she's gonna take no for an answer.” Max leans across the table to blow out the candle, and he gives me a sidelong look that I can't interpret.

  “Dammit, Jude...” Russ starts fumbling with the padlock, and that's when I know I've won the battle. “All right, but I'm laying a few ground rules first. Number one, don't speak directly to him.”

  “Him? Just a minute ago he was an it.”

  “Shut up and pay attention. Do you want to do this or not? Number two, do not listen to anything he says. This fucker will try to get inside your head and believe me, you don't want him there. And number three, when I tell you we're done, that means we're done. We come back upstairs and that's the end of it. No arguments. Got it?”

  “Yeah. Sure. I got it.” I'm playing it cool, but already I can feel the butterflies swarming in my stomach. To be perfectly honest, I never used to believe in the concept of demons. Even knowing what my father did, I was always skeptical. I kept my doubts to myself, but as I grew older and more cynical, I'd pretty much reached the conclusion that the afflicted were either mentally ill or just desperate for attention.

  But inhabited by evil spirits? No. I could never truly, deep down in my heart, accept that as an indisputable fact.

  Until the day a man we all knew, had known all our lives – a man who hosted a block party every Christmas and gave free Tootsie Pops to the kids in his drugstore and who once put a Band-Aid on my knee when I fell off my bike in front of his house – pulled a gun on my parents and murdered them in cold blood for no reason whatsoever.

  I saw the security camera footage. And I can't explain how, but I knew, even then, that the person grinning up at the camera was no more Claude Gilbert than I was.

  The door swings open slowly, and my hands tremble with nervous excitement as I follow Russ down the heavy wooden stairs.

  He's switched on the light, but it's dim. Always has been. I never did like coming down here, probably for that very reason. That, and the fact that it's always so eerily quiet. It's like being in a tomb. The only windows are a few small, narrow strips of pane at the very top of the back wall. They're all fogged up from the rain right now, but even on a sunny day all you can see through them is grass.

  It feels like we're walking in slow motion. With every step down, the room gradually emerges into view. The table legs. The shackled, black-clad ankles between them. The long, rectangular tabletop. A pair of hands, fettered at the wrists by manacles, folded patiently together as if politely awaiting guests. A plain black shirt, neatly buttoned to just below the throat.

  And then, as my heart picks up a faster cadence, I see him at last. My brother's nemesis. The alleged cambion. The demon himself.

  His head is downcast, bowed forward as if he has fallen asleep. The face is obscured by hair that's dark as a raven's wing, stylishly cut in a way that's more Wall Street than Hades. It's hair that belongs on a corporate lawyer, or maybe even a male model, not some unholy terror. Is this what they're so afraid of?

  I'm almost disappointed. This isn't what I expected. I'm not sure what I expected, actually, but I do know that this definitely isn't it.

  I feel a gentle tug on my jeans, and realize with surprise that Max has linked a finger through one of my belt loops. I find it flattering that he's suddenly become so protective, but really, what does he think I'm about to do? Run into the thing's arms?

  I narrow my eyes, scrutinizing the man at the table more closely, and notice with a jolt of clarity that something else is out of place. It's his clothes, I realize. They're immaculate. Shouldn't there be blood on them? If these two have been pummeling him the way I imagine they were, then wouldn't he be a mangled mess?

  I want to ask. I have a dozen other questions as well, but somehow I can't bring myself to convey them out loud. I guess it's not just me because none of us says a word. Not a whisper. It's like we're all reluctant to wake him. The silence, as we stand there watching the sleeping man, or cambion, or whatever he is, is almost electric.

  And then out of the silence, a voice.

  Soft and sensuous, like a sad song, the lightest touch of fine cashmere, beautifully accented in a way I can't quite identify. British? Australian, maybe? I can't pinpoint it, and I'm not sure that it matters. It's a voice that could charm the devil himself.

  Or perhaps it's coming from the devil himself.

  Only a dozen words, but each and every one of them a sweet caress.

  “The thrill of anticipation is almost orgasmic, is it not, little sister?”

  ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

  Chapter Four

  He lifts his head, and the world as I know it ceases to exist.

  His eyes.

  They are the first thing that draw my attention, and the last thing I know I'll see before I fall asleep tonight. Blue as the ocean on a summer day, shrewd enough to conceal the most intimate of secrets, they lock on me with an intensity that is both terrifying and alluring. I have the unsettling feeling that he already knows everything there is to know about me. That he can see right through me, read my innermost thoughts, touch and explore every nuance of my soul.

  My breath ices over in my throat.

  My God, he is beautiful.

  Every part of him was designed with perfection as a goal. It's as if someone took every physical attribute I ever found appealing in a man and combined them to form the ideal of living, breathing temptation. A face chiseled from the pages of a magazine, sporting just enough dark scruff to hint at late nights and rumpled sheets. An enticingly athletic body accented by simple black clothes. And smooth, luscious lips created exclusively for sin.

  They turn up ever so slightly as he regards me with mild amusement. Given the situation he is currently in, I can't
help but wonder how he is able to remain so calm and self-assured.

  As for myself, I am dumbstruck.

  His charisma is obviously lost on Russell, because my brother has flown into a rage, sliding across the table to slam his fist into the man's face again and again, shouting at him between blows with a fury rivaling anything I've ever seen before.

  “Nobody told you to fucking speak! Anyone tell you to talk? You shut your mouth, you pile of rancid cock snot! You do not talk to my sister, you got that?”

  Horrified, I take an instinctive step forward, but Max restrains me. “Wait. Watch,” he murmurs.

  “This is insane,” I protest, struggling to escape his grip. Whatever the guy may or may not have done, I don't want to see him beaten to a bloody pulp. Russ is ripping into him like a rabid wolf. I'm starting to think some kind of toxic waste has been dumped into the water supply here and everyone has gone batshit crazy as a result.

  Max simply urges, “Watch.”

  Unable to break free of his grasp, there isn't much else I can do. I wince with every blow, grateful when the beating comes to a merciful end.

  Shaking out his hand and breathing heavily, Russ turns to glare at me. “Well, you wanted proof! Tell me. Does this look human to you? Look at him. Look at him and tell me you still don't believe me.”

  I shake my head, uncomprehending, barely able to stomach the sight of that flawlessly handsome face pummeled into a battered and bloodied mask.

  Until that mask begins to change. In a disturbing and wholly unexpected way. And suddenly I get what my brother and Max were talking about.

  Even as I watch, the gaping cut beneath his left eye begins to close up, tightening into a scar that fades into a smooth line. Then it vanishes altogether. The swelling around his eyes recedes while his shattered lip repairs itself, the blood dissolving into his flesh until it's gone, until his complexion is clean and unsullied. Even the wet blood soaking the front of his shirt seems to have melted into the fabric, disappearing as if it was never there.

  In the span of less than thirty seconds, he is as untouched and perfect as he was when I first saw him.