this. You couldn’t live with yourself if you didn’t.”
“Can’t we wait?” I cry. “Leave it a few days at least, so I can mourn Bill-E and be with Dervish?”
“The Demonata won’t wait,” Beranabus says, then smiles faintly. “It’s hard for all of us. Kernel needs medical aid. We can build a new pair of eyes for him in the universe of magic, but they’ll only work in that demonic realm. When he returns to this world, the eyes will soon dissolve. The pain will be awful and will worsen every time he comes back. He can no longer think of Earth as home.
“I want to sit down with Bec, tell her all that’s happened in the last thousand and a half years, discuss old times, get to know her again, guide her through the ways of this new and frightening world. Retire and enjoy a few years of peace in her company before my exhausted old spirit passes on.
“But Kernel’s ruined eyes don’t matter a damn. My pitiful wishes matter even less. We’re pawns of the universe. We go where we’re needed, do what we must. All else takes second place to that.”
“I know,” I sigh. “I understand. But Dervish… Bill-E…”
“Look at it this way,” Kernel says softly. “You can mourn your brother here and wait for the world to end— or you can mourn him in the Demonata’s universe while you kick seven shades of demon arse all the way to hell.” He pushes himself up and walks to the monolith, wincing from the pain, hands outstretched. He touches the dark face of the window, pauses, lifts his head as though trying to see the sky one last time, even without his eyes and through the layers of bandages. Then, with a soft groan, he steps forward and vanishes.
“I want to say goodbye to Dervish,” I mutter.
“No,” Beranabus replies, “you don’t. That would mean more pain. Better to slip away while he’s asleep. He won’t like it, but he’ll accept it.”
“How’s he going to explain Bill-E’s disappearance to the police, his teachers, everyone who knew him?”
“He’ll cook up a good story. He was always adept at making fiction fit the facts.” Beranabus extends a hand towards me.
“What about the cave?” I ask, stalling for time. “We have to block the entrance again or the Demonata might—”
“I’ve already taken care of that,” Beranabus says curtly, losing patience. “I’ve cast spells of warning again, and Dervish will ensure the entrance is filled in as swiftly as possible.”
“Your spells didn’t work last time,” I remind him.
“Because of the Kah-Gash,” he snaps. “That has the power to override any spell of mine or any other’s. But with you and Kernel by my side, I won’t have to worry about that happening again. If demons make another move on the cave, I’ll know. Now, are you coming or not? And before you answer, don’t forget the Lambs are still after you.”
I sneer. “They frightened me once—not any longer.”
“Aye. Because you have a more powerful enemy to face now.”
I nod slowly, reluctantly, then take the ancient magician’s hand. “I’m scared,” I whisper. “More scared than I’ve ever been, and that’s saying a lot.”
“I know,” he replies quietly. “You probably always will be. If it’s any comfort, I’m scared too, even after all these centuries.”
“How do you deal with the fear?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I fight.”
“Is that enough?”
“It has to be.”
And on that dubious, dark note, we walk to the monolith, the magician and his assistant, saviours of the world, slaves of the universe. We lay our hands on the smooth black slab. There’s a surge of magic. Our heads tilt back like Kernel’s did, for one final look at a beautiful, twinkling, star-studded sky. I think of Dervish, Bill-E, all I have to leave behind. The battles to come, the loneliness and pain. I want to run away from it all and hide. But I can’t. No—I
Beranabus tugs gently. I take a breath, hold it, then willingly step forward with him to face my destiny in the universe of all things foul and demonic.
