I took it and hurried with him around the base of the stairs, skidding across the smooth floor as we ran over the orange peel map of the people who had thought the world was both a globe and an ideal place to multiply demons.
I heard footsteps echoing behind me.
Beside me, Brindle’s breathy panting was reassuring. I felt him just there, a presence beside me.
But when I glanced at him, I saw flickers of shapes that were not doggy at all.
Flicker, a glimpse of Sir Branson if he were the soft blue of a peaceful summer sky and transparent as a window.
Flicker, an open-mouthed, laughing face that looked half human, half monster, and was just as transparent as my old master had been. It glowed the color of a fire tainted by too much sap.
It’s a good plan, the voice in my mind said as I ran, as good as any.
But what if that were the demon speaking? What if he were rejoicing already in our failure? Ready to leap once more into a paladin and lure him to his death. Only this time it would be Sir Adalbrand.
There was no ominous laughter in my head. I almost found that more worrying than if there had been.
And then we were steps from the fountain, huffing together as we tried to catch our breaths.
Brindle darted ahead, leapt up the rim of the fountain, and perched there, teeth bared and growling, his eyes fixed on something behind us. There was something odd about his eyes but I didn’t have time to note it. I drew my sword the moment we stopped running — though what that would do against an enormous demon, I could not say.
Sir Adalbrand set the cup down on the rim of the fountain and stood with one hand raised, fingers curled except the two he raised in blessing as he spat out the rote words.
“From water we are born, to water we return, may the word of the God bless this water and make it holy, purifying us by it in both body and spirit.”
I set the other cup beside his.
I started to turn to see what Brindle was growling at, but I was arrested by the sight of him, because there, overlaid over the body of the dog, were two figures, transparent as cloudy glass and fighting with one another in a tangle of limbs and gritted teeth. I could not truly make out the edges of their bodies, only sense that they fought — two souls in one dog, desperate for dominance.
Hold fast, my girl. Do not surrender. Do not bend!
I completed my spin, lifted my sword arm, and saw the dark, gleaming blackness of the monastery demon bearing down on us.
How did one fight a demon with a sword?
You don’t. You’re eaten, snackling. And all your adorable ideas about drowning your beloved like some fairytale princess crumble away. Did you really think you could save the world with murder, or was that just a cute excuse for something dark within you?
I wasn’t sure how to fight, but I braced myself anyway, kept the sword high, eyes on the target …
To my horror, Adalbrand shot past me into the darkness.
I gasped, the breath snatched from my lungs, took a step forward, as if I could stop him, and then stumbled back again when I felt a pop and the darkness was no more. Adalbrand spun, his eyes wild and too bright in the faint light of the clock, and then he dragged the cup in his hand up to his lips, his eyes locked on mine as he quaffed the entire draught, only a little spilling down his chin into his two-day beard.
I could see how it changed him. How his eyes went harder, the lines of his face sharper, the beauty of his eyes more wild. This was how it was meant to be in this terrible place. He’d drunk down someone’s demon, the evil they designed themselves, and now he was possessed by it.
He gagged, choked, clearly made sick by it, and then with a grimace and a slight convulsion, he drank the rest.
“Sorken’s, I think. Meant for Cleft,” he gasped, eyes swimming with emotion.
My gaze was locked on him, unable to look aside even though Brindle was barking furiously.
Adalbrand flung the empty cup aside and, looking grimly miserable, paused, as if it took all his willpower to still control his own body movements. He heaved twice, broad shoulders bucking, but managed to keep it down, and then leaned over the fountain, gasping.
By chance, he’d landed right beside Brindle.
The dog placed a paw gently on his shoulder, big eyes huge and understanding even as the two specters layered over him tussled and tumbled for dominance.
Adalbrand locked his eyes on mine, his chiseled face wild with the struggle within. He reached for the second cup, but before he could grasp it, a second hand slipped in between us — a hand with a dagger jutting through the wrist between the veins.
