“Do you believe me now?” Celeste said.
“You speak the truth, yet this bargain holds little appeal to me,” Morgal said. “These souls were already tainted and hellbound. How can you claim to give me what is already mine?”
Celeste’s eyes flicked toward me. The negotiation was slipping away from her.
I had suspected the demon might react like this from the start. Celeste would have been better off murdering innocent people beyond Hell’s reach, like the Berlin Ripper had done. But she had allowed herself to be blinded by her hunger for vengeance. Denied her father’s love and attention all her life, she’d targeted the siblings who’d never had to suffer the way she did.
If I’d been in her place, I’d have found some nuns or orphans to offer up. Barring that, I would try to find a specific person whose soul the demon craved. Somebody who’d really pissed off Hell. Somebody like me.
Suddenly I had a good idea where this was headed.
Celeste’s next words proved me right.
“How about I turn the blade against Raven, Hell’s biggest enemy? Imagine how your status will grow when his soul is your trophy. A knight of the light doomed to spend all eternity in darkness. With Raven out of the way, the Prince of Darkness will be able to continue his conquest unchallenged. Imagine what rewards he will grant you.”
Morgal’s eyes narrowed as they locked on me. If I made it out of this alive, Skulick and I were going to have a long talk about vetting our clients to make sure none of them were malicious, double-crossing, murder-happy thieves.
“You could kill Raven,” Celeste said. “Torture him, put him through every misery imaginable. But ultimately his body will give out. Only the blade you now hold can give you his soul.”
The demon nodded and his leathery wings flared out, casting jagged shadows against the temple walls. The skull-face had changed again, now a a reptilian devil mask.
“Done,” he said. “You have yourself a deal, child. If you take the blade and strike down Hell’s greatest enemy, your soul will be spared.”
With these words, Morgal handed the Soul Dagger back to Celeste. I braced myself for the inevitable, still paralyzed, unable to raise a hand in my defense. In a way, I couldn’t even be angry with Celeste. The girl was a survivor. She would do anything to live—or so I believed. What happened next showed me that I had gotten this whole thing wrong yet again.
As soon as Morgal handed Celeste the Soul Dagger, she brought it up to her chest and drove it into her heart. Blood gushed from the wound, and her hand slipped off the dagger’s hilt. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Even Morgal appeared aghast.
Celeste collapsed on top of the altar. While I was still trying to make sense of what had just happened, Desmond Horne threw off his restraints and snatched the bloody knife from his daughter’s corpse.
The helplessness and despair was gone from his face. Despite his advanced age, this was the predatory, relentless man I’d studied back in Skulick’s loft. This whole thing had been a set-up, but what was the old man’s ultimate goal?
As this latest insight spun through my mind, Desmond Horne brought up the Soul Dagger and drove it with all his might into Morgal.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THE BLADE SUNK into the demon’s inhuman flesh.
For a brief yet timeless moment, reality froze, the yawning silence deafening. Morgal backed away, his reptilian expression stunned that a mere mortal would dare defy him in such an impertinent manner.
A beat later, the world sped up as Morgal’s ferocious roar shook the temple. He clutched the Soul Dagger’s ivory handle and withdrew it from his gut. The artifact clattered to the floor, the three-bladed dagger slick with the creature’s black blood.
“How dare you, mortal?” Morgal roared, his slitted eyes fixed on his new enemy. “I’ll make you suffer like no member of your species has ever…”
Morgal broke off as a series of tremors tore through his body. His whole form began to tremble and shake. The red-black eyes turned a sickly white, and streamers of spectral light enveloped his form.
Desmond Horne rose from the altar and surveyed his handiwork with a look of deep satisfaction. For the first time, I wondered who I should fear more: Morgal or Horne?
My eyes shifted back to my parents’ killer. In the violent display of light flickering around the demon, I made out human shapes and faces.
Understanding slashed through my mind. I was looking at the spirits of the three Horne brothers as well as Celeste. Desmond Horne had released their trapped souls when he stabbed Morgal with the Soul Dagger. The spirits were now inside the demon, battling over control for the monster’s form.