'I don't think so. I did not know you had a demon of your own, of course, but I don't think it interfered. It is you who are the problem. My creatures assure me they can see signs of possession on you, but you are not Nevil, are you?'
'No, my lady.'
'Yet he is in there inside you. Somehow he is suppressed. We must release him.'
Toby worked his injured tongue around until he could find enough spit to speak. 'How?'
She smiled sadly. 'You are a resolute young man, Toby Strangerson! I think where I erred was in underestimating your strength of will. Had I seen you smothered in bruises as you are now, then I might have realized what a doughty soul you are — any man who submits to such a beating voluntarily is a man of unusual courage and determination, whatever one may think of his judgment. Somehow you suppress my beloved. You have him locked away in a corner of your heart.'
'Not… not knowingly, my lady!'
She stepped very close, gazing up at him with eyes of black fire. 'Knowingly or not, you have. Now you have promised to cooperate. I have made quite certain that you will cooperate! So reach into the depths of your soul, Toby Strangerson, and seek out my missing lord, my lost love. He is in there. Call him forth!'
He stared into those black pools. He was conscious of her musky, floral perfume. Sweat trickled down his bruises. He tried. He tried desperately to do what she wanted of him. The stove hissed once…
'Let him
The stove hissed twice…
Valda sighed and stepped away. 'It isn't working! Your grip on life is too strong. We must try the other way.'
He did not ask. Whatever she wanted of him, of course…
She stalked over to the table and scratched at the cloth with her nails. 'I dislike this! If there were any other choice… It seems such a shame to waste you.'
Death! 'However I may serve you, ma'am,' he said sadly.
'Yes. Worse, it is dangerous for Nevil.' She paced back to face him again. 'I must have Krygon diminish you. I will let it have your soul, nibbling it away little by little, until my lord can emerge from your shadow. I do not know how much of you will remain by then, Tobias — probably almost nothing, and of course you will be no more able to act then than Nevil can act now. Know that I have enjoyed our little tussle. In an odd way, I admire you.'
She leaned up and touched her lips to his.
He closed his eyes, shuddering with an unholy mingling of terror and desire.
The lady stepped back. 'Now, Krygon—'
Hamish grabbed up the poker and swung it with all his strength, clubbing Toby in the middle of his chest. There was a sharp cracking sound and a bright blue flash that momentarily lit the room like a noonday sun.
Lady Valda screamed piercingly.
Dazzled, stunned by the pain, taken by surprise, Toby staggered back into Krygon and was hurled bodily aside by one sweep of the thing's weedy arm. He stumbled over the table, collapsing it under his weight with all its miscellaneous contents of vials, casket, dagger, dishes, and candlesticks. He landed on his broken ribs and two or three hundred bruises. Through all the racket, he heard Hamish whoop in shrill triumph and throw down the poker.
Lady Valda screamed again, even louder. Bewildered, blinking, Toby tried to make sense of what his eyes were telling him. A turquoise blaze enveloped her. Then the harsh light changed shape and he made out a thing of fire — a jagged, glittering being that flickered back and forth between near-human form one instant to a whirl of claws or sharp faceted edges the next.
Toby was about to be scorched — the cloth on the table had caught fire, setting the contents of the vials to blaze in billows of red flame. He sat up and located the door. Now was a good time to leave.
The collapsing table had dropped the metal casket right at Hamish's feet. He had snatched it up, but Krygon reached him before he could open the lid. The husk grasped the box and slammed it back against the wall like a hammer on an anvil, with Hamish himself being the work between them. He cried out, then slithered limply down the wall, gasping for air.
Toby was on his feet. The creature turned and hurled the casket at his head. He ducked, hearing it crack into the dresser behind him and dislodge a shower of crockery.
Lady Valda writhed on the floor, her screams taking on a hideous choking quality. The flashing, glittering demon on top of her was still tearing at her, showering the room with fragments of blood-soaked cloth and quivering lumps of flesh.
'Hamish, come on!' Toby staggered toward the door. He was alone. Turning, he saw that the Krygon creature had Hamish by the neck and was shaking him, probably about to strangle him. Whatever else Toby did, he must help the boy escape to make amends for having dragged him into this. His fists were broken, but his feet still worked. He took a stride and kicked as hard as he could, slamming a heel into the thing's kidneys. The husk cannoned into the wall. Unfortunately Hamish cushioned the impact.
The Krygon thing spun around and came at Toby, rags flapping, hands outstretched like claws, aiming for his eyes. He jabbed a left at its broken jaw, but the creature was ready for him this time, as unyielding as rock. An explosion of agony in his fist almost stunned him, then he was struck by a runaway wagon — an impossible bodily impact sent him sprawling, measuring his length with the rotting husk on top of him. Joy and hate glowed in its eyes as it lowered its jagged mouth to tear out his throat. He braced his hands against its face and tried to push it away, but all his strength was useless against its demonic power. Only a blade through the heart… Nauseated by its stench, Toby yelled to Hamish to find Valda's dagger. Hamish must have reacted, because Krygon released Toby and sprang free. He swung a leg wildly… struck one of its ankles, tripped it, sent it headlong into the stove with a sickening boom that would have certainly brained a mortal.
Oswood was still tearing at Lady Valda, spraying blood. From the noises she was making, she had little left to scream with. Although the demon was only a flickering, shifting fire with no discernible face, somehow Toby was certain it was already looking around for another victim.
Both the rug and the basket of laundry blazed now, filling the room with flames and smoke. The Krygon creature lurched to its feet and at the same time hurled the chair at Hamish, bowling him into a corner.
As Toby struggled to rise, he registered the metal casket within reach. He sprawled back and grabbed it, pulled it to him. The hob was inside there! He sat up, wrapping an arm around the box and gripping the lid with a half-useless hand. If he could just release the hob, it would come to the rescue.
Krygon caught him by the left ankle and jerked him flat on his back again. Then it hauled him across the floor toward the stove, leering grotesquely as it prepared to feed him into the fire. Still fighting vainly with the casket, he braced his right foot against one of the range's metal legs, but he was no match for the superhuman strength. He was pulled around, slithering on the blood-slick flagstones, his left foot moving inexorably toward the fiery doorway. He could feel heat on his skin. He could hear the spray of Valda's blood hissing on the hot metal as Oswood continued dismantling her.
He gave up trying to open the casket and took it in both hands to throw at Krygon, knowing that it would inevitably just bounce off. His toes were almost into the coals when the viselike grip on his ankle relaxed. For a fraction of a second, the creature looked down in astonishment at a bloody metal point protruding from its chest. Surprise seemed to melt into a smile as its knees folded — but perhaps that was just a trick of the light. It toppled forward and sprawled lifeless across Toby's legs. The hilt of Valda's dagger stood proudly in its back, the yellow gem shining bright.
Toby yelled, 'Well done, Hamish!'
Krygon was dead. Valda had fallen silent. The Oswood demon reared up over her, a blurred blue fire of talons and sharp edges, taller than man-size — glittering, spidery, unworldly, infinitely malicious. It had no face and yet it glared triumph and hatred. The hexer had merely whetted its appetite. It was ready for another victim.
