CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
DEMETRIUS, OF COURSE, was completely unconcerned with the aftereffects of smashing Adrian’s life and our relationship with one blow. “Now that that’s settled, back to more important things,” he said.
I wanted to continue arguing with Adrian, to find the right words that would somehow stop him from making the worst mistake of his life, but all of a sudden, I was too exhausted to even speak. It shouldn’t be a surprise. I didn’t know how I was still conscious after all the blood I’d lost, both from my bullet wounds and from getting half my right arm hacked off. If Demetrius or someone else hadn’t put a tourniquet on it, I definitely would have bled to death already.
Demetrius returned to carefully emptying the contents of the plastic containers into a huge bowl that was absolutely not plastic. Instead, it shone as brightly as gold, and knowing the demon’s avarice, it probably was gold. Adrian gave the sawdust that Demetrius poured into it a knowing look.
“Is that what I think it is?”
“What else?” Demetrius said, then slanted a look at me. “You have no idea, though, do you?”
“I don’t care,” I said, but Demetrius was in full bragging mode, so he told me anyway.
“This is all that remains of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, the very one whose fruit prompted mankind’s original sin. Nothing else in all the realms compares to its darkness. Even a sprinkling of this can turn the most hallowed of items into a cursed relic in an instant, but you don’t have to believe me. See for yourself. Bring the prisoner!”
The doors opened and four more minions came in. I almost didn’t recognize the person they had tied with ropes between them because he was covered in layers of dirt and blood. But when he lifted his head and his long black hair fell back, I recognized him and let out a silent scream.
Not Costa, too!
Adrian also appeared shocked. “What are you doing here?”
“Came with Brutus,” Costa mumbled. “Zach said that we hadn’t been forbidden from helping like he had, so he sent us.”
“And despite my men carelessly killing all the monks, now I have a human to handle the hallowed items that might otherwise kill me or my minions if we touched them,” Demetrius said archly.
That was why he’d kept Costa alive. Of course it hadn’t been out of any sense of compassion or mercy.
“So, Michael was forbidden from coming?” Demetrius laughed. “I do so love when Archons are required to play by rules that I am free to ignore.” Then that coal-colored stare landed on me. “You know this means God wants humanity to suffer. Otherwise, why would He forbid His general from stopping me from reopening the realm gateways?”
I had no idea. It wasn’t because I’d be the one to stop him. I’d given that my best shot and had come up far short.
“Think about it,” Demetrius continued. “If God knows everything, then He knew that if you came to this island without Michael, you would fail. Yet He still forbade Michael from coming with you. How does it feel to know despite all your efforts, it was foreordained that you never stood a chance?”
I looked away. I didn’t want to admit that Demetrius was right, but at the moment, it was hard to call him wrong. Maybe this had been part of a plan. A huge, humanity’s-gonna-get-it plan, with me leading everyone straight into demons’ arms.
“Stop baiting Ivy,” Adrian said in a flat tone. “Aren’t you tens of thousands of years too old to use mere words to wound?”
“I would prefer to use knives, but that would break our agreement,” Demetrius said, his brow arching. “But you’re right, back to business. Dip the tip of the pilum into the bowl,” he ordered Costa, and the minions holding him loosed the ropes from around him and shoved him forward.
That was when I saw that he’d been holding the long stick all along. As Demetrius had pointed out, Costa was a regular guy with no supernatural lineage and no demon-tethering ties like the minions, so the pilum had no effect on him. It didn’t even appear to be pulling him toward the spearhead, wherever that was.
Costa cast a grim look at me, then folded his arms around the pilum and didn’t move. “I won’t do it unless you let me treat Ivy’s wounds with manna.”
A snort escaped Demetrius. “You are very lucky that my people murdered all the other humans here, or I’d kill you for daring to assume that you could bargain with me.”
“Let him do it,” Adrian said wearily. “You’ve already agreed to let Ivy live. Why wait until she dies and you have to drain more of your power to raise her to honor our deal?”
Demetrius sighed. “Because I’d like to see her dead at least once. Still, you’re right. Raising people drains me of strength, and I’ve already depleted a great deal of my power by killing Blinky so he couldn’t get to the spearhead before I could, causing the eclipse to come early, and then by raising you, Adrian. Very well.” He turned back to Costa. “Give it to her, but first, drop the hallowed weapons right where you stand.”
Costa’s mouth dipped downward. Seeing it, Demetrius laughed. “You didn’t expect me to let you near the Davidian while you were holding them, did you?”
From Costa’s expression, he had been hoping Demetrius would be that stupid, but of course, the demon wasn’t. Costa dropped the pilum. Then he reached behind him and pulled something from behind his back. When he dropped it and I saw the crimson, purple and gold cloth wrapped around it, I realized he’d been carrying the spearhead with him, too.
It was only twenty feet away. So close, yet also an unbridgeable distance considering my physical condition and being in a room filled with minions and an über-powerful demon.
Then Costa came over to me and knelt next to me, his expression twisting when he looked at my sawed-off arm. His expression grew even darker when he lifted my sweater and saw the bullet holes I still didn’t want to look at. Instead, I watched as he pulled a bag of manna from his jeans pocket that was bulging full. He had come to the island prepared.
“You should use some yourself,” I said, although it was becoming much harder to talk. “You look awful.”
“You first,” he said, forcing a smile as he smeared both hands with the sticky substance, then put one over my stump and the other over what was probably the worst of my bullet holes.
I braced for the pain that always came when flesh was forced to rapidly repair itself, yet nothing happened. Costa’s expression grew stricken and he grabbed a bigger handful from the bag, then placed the new batch over my stomach.
Nothing. Not even a tingle. When I glanced at my arm, the end still looked open and mangled, too.
“You’re not healing,” Costa said in anguish.
I wasn’t, which meant only one thing. My wounds were mortal. Now all we had was our worst enemy’s word that he’d bring me back after I died, which would be very soon.