Heretic (Demon Marked Book 2) (Demon Marked Saga) Read online

  Contents

  HERETIC

  Copyright

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  The Most Important Thing You Can Do to Spread the Word

  About the Author

  HERETIC

  The Demon Marked Saga: Book Two

  by Corey Pemberton

  Heretic

  by Corey Pemberton

  Website: http://www.coreypemberton.net

  Newsletter: http://eepurl.com/cI2YO5

  Email: [email protected]

  Copyright © 2016 by Corey Pemberton. All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental.

  Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited. The author greatly appreciates you taking the time to read his work. Please consider leaving a review wherever you bought the book, or telling your friends about the Demon Marked saga, to help me spread the word.

  Thank you for supporting my work.

  “Never trust a demon. He has a hundred motives for anything he does… Ninety-nine of them, at least, are malevolent.”

  —Neil Gaiman, The Sandman, Volume 1: Preludes and Nocturnes

  CHAPTER ONE

  The voices woke Malcolm again.

  They seemed to enjoy torturing him. They went quiet just long enough for his consciousness to slip away, only to start whispering again in that sliver of time between no mind and true rest. He stirred in his bed. Sweat pooled beneath him, making his skin stick to the sheets.

  He plugged his ears, and still the voices spoke.

  They sounded sweet, a chorus of nymphs bathing inside his head instead of a mythical Greek stream. They teased him, tickled his ears and made him shiver in anticipation. The language they spoke was strange, but Malcolm knew exactly what their words meant:

  “Come on down to our sweet pond. The water's just fine. Why don't you take a dip?”

  Malcolm sat up and rolled out of bed. The voices stopped rattling—just like they always did once he was fully awake and miserable. He stretched his weary limbs and looked out the window. Trees and stately mansions slept under a sliver of a moon. The rest of the house was silent. He shook his head. If only he could take those voices up on their invitation…

  But that pond was a million miles away. Deep in another world he'd never see again. Malcolm shut his eyes, leaned against the armoire by the window, and pulled the memory to the front of his mind.

  That pond.

  That beautiful golden pond.

  He remembered how he'd ran for it, leading the tortured servant who killed Eric and Miranda to his unwitting demise. How it felt when that warm liquid washed over him, covered him in a pure goodness he couldn't fully comprehend. How that liquid attached itself to him and burrowed deep beneath his skin. It baked into him like sunlight and left an afterglow which had lasted for days.

  But that afterglow was fading.

  The color of that pond, its warmth and the way he'd floated in it, were vivid to him only a few days earlier. Time chipped away at that memory, each minute covering it in a thickening layer of fog. Malcolm opened his eyes. Had it really happened? He had half a mind to go ask Paul or Charlotte, but they were sleeping with the rest of the world. He'd pretended not to notice when they stopped sleeping in separate bedrooms and moved into Paul's. At least they'd found each other after all of this.

  All he'd found was a taste of Nirvana—a taste that was fading rapidly on his tongue.

  Malcolm left his bedroom and crept through the hallway. The mansion's twists and turns were familiar now. All that time awake had given him ample opportunities to explore. The hideout was mundane now, but it was still a hideout. Malcolm passed a row of family photos on his way downstairs. The man and woman in them looked back at him, smiling. Even the little boy they held in their arms smiled. Not a hair was out of place. This was their home—their life. The stairs creaked beneath Malcolm's feet as he went down to the first floor.

  This mansion would never be home. They were imposters here. Things wouldn't be right until he got far away from the place and all of its claustrophobic hallways and furniture. The owners wouldn't return, though. Not with how they'd left clothes and suitcases strewn across the house like they were trying to evacuate before a hurricane hit. But Malcolm watched the front door anyway, hoping beyond hope that they would come back. Then they'd drive them out and Malcolm could leave the others without these terrible pangs of guilt.

  He checked the front windows for silhouettes, but nothing moved.

  Malcolm sighed and continued his twilight wanderings. He cut through the kitchen into the living room where a giant television stood watch. Malcolm went into the hallway beyond it, cracking open doors and peeking inside rooms. He saw Nora tucked in bed, floating peacefully in a sea of pillows and blankets, her face placid in the waning moonlight. Malcolm shut the door and smiled. At least they'd brought the little girl back. At least she was safe.

  He stopped at the next door and opened it. He stared into the dark room, blinking. Something was wrong. Malcolm opened the door wider and went inside. Above him, the ceiling fan clicked and blasted cool air onto the back of his neck. That wasn't the strange part. Carol always seemed to be burning hot. He looked at the bed along the back wall—a bed with an impression in it, but without a body to match. Malcolm pulled the cord on the fan and bathed the room in light.

  The girl was gone.

  “Carol?” he said, his throat dry.

  No answer.

  Malcolm left the light on and backed out of the room. He glanced down the hallway from where he came, then at the other end. A closed door greeted him there, and a forbidden room behind it. He'd only been in there once, when Charlotte pulled them out of that strange underground world. Had the best nap of his life there too. Then Charlotte woke him up and made him leave. This place is dangerous, she'd said, after gathering everyone around. I don't understand it. But we can't go back in there. We have to stay away from the gate.

  That room called him now. The whispers in Malcolm's head grew louder as he approached it, urging him deeper into insanity.

  Hurry up, silly, those voices said. The gate's in here. The pond's in here—the beautiful golden pond.

  “No it isn't. It's black now. I saw it.” He said this aloud, like giving the memories a voice would make them more solid.

  It didn't.

  And the voices just laughed.

  Malcolm stumbled through the hallway and yanked the door handle before his right mind could return. It creaked when it opened, scattering a swarm of dust motes through the air. Malcolm inhaled and smiled. The place smelled of leather and musty books. It smelled of secret knowledge—of forbidden worlds. He crept forward i
nto the massive room, swallowed up in skyscrapers of bookshelves which reached from floor to ceiling. He hadn't noticed them the first time. He'd been too busy with the featherbed. It was still there now, tucked away in a corner.

  All the curtains were drawn, but a sliver of light reflected off a paperweight on the desk in the center of the room. Malcolm studied the huge chair behind the desk, half expecting it to turn around with someone—or something—sitting in it. But the chair stayed perfectly still when he approached it, feeling his way forward as his eyes adjusted to the dark.

  He took a deep breath once he reached the desk, found a lamp on the corner, and twisted the knob to give it life. Light scattered, jumping from bookshelf to bookshelf. Malcolm looked around the room, squinting. Artificial light didn't belong here. It robbed this place of its power, revealed the ravages of time on the volumes which had looked so impressive in the moonlight. Malcolm held his hand over his face, eager to turn off the lamp.

  Something in the corner of the room stopped him.

  There, in a labyrinth of bookshelves, sat a teenage girl. She sat on a library step with her back perfectly straight, like she was trying to make it through etiquette school. An armoire, mirror, and leather chair kept her company in the little break between the books. She had pulled the mirror off the wall and was holding it in her hands, giving it all of her attention. She didn't turn when Malcolm called her name.

  She just sat and stared, a captive in her pajamas.

  “Carol? What are you doing in here?” This time Malcolm went over to her when she didn't answer. He put a hand on her shoulder, felt it tense. “What are you doing?” he said.

  No answer.

  Malcolm squeezed tighter on her shoulder and began to shake it. “Carol. I think you're sleepwalking. Let's get you back to your bed.”

  Someone answered, but Malcolm couldn't say who. Sounds filled the room. The same language the temptresses spoke—the dream stealers. Malcolm plugged his ears and pressed forward. Carol's eyes never left the mirror, but her lips were moving. They spoke the same phrase Malcolm heard inside his head, joining the voices there, repeating it over and over in some kind of chant.

  He stopped inches in front of her face. “Carol?”

  And still she spoke into the oval mirror. She regarded it without blinking, staring past her reflection at something Malcolm couldn't see. When Malcolm stepped between her and the shiny prize, her face twisted in agony.

  “Carol!” Malcolm grabbed the mirror and pried it out of her hands. He got a good look at himself in its polished surface. A gold reflection. The voices screamed at him, clawing at his ears like they were trying to climb out and dive into that perfect glass. The water's just fine. Why don't you take a dip?

  Malcolm slammed the mirror face down onto the leather chair.

  Carol was screaming too. Her eyes flew to him and her fingernails followed, digging into his arms. “No,” she said, almost snapping her neck in a desperate search for the mirror before Malcolm pulled her off the library step. He picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. She didn't stop scratching him until he put her down on the other side of the room.

  She looked up, her face streaked with tears. “No. Not a dream.” She started to crawl away on battered elbows and knees. “It's mother. I hear her. She's calling me.”

  Malcolm moved between Carol and the rest of the study, blocking her way. “You heard your mom? That's why you were at the gate?”

  Carol looked at Malcolm for a long time without a reply. Then she threw her head back and let out a terrible sound. It might have been a laugh, but there were sobs mixed in. “Mother says she misses us. Me and Nora. But we don't need to worry. She's coming to see us real soon.” She closed her eyes, and the muscles in her face went slack.

  “Us? Is this the first time you… heard her?”

  Carol's head drooped to the floor to join the rest of her body. The madness which had seized her let go, and now she slept. Malcolm left her there and went back over to the mirror. Just one more look. He flipped it over. In that reflection he found a broken man, hair disheveled and eyes ringed dark. Yet there was something almost beautiful about that decay.

  The voices in his head spoke louder. The longer he looked the louder they shouted. He stared at that reflection, transfixed. Time dissolved in that mirror's surface.

  Louder the voices called. Louder and louder. Urging Malcolm to slip through to the other side. Maybe he could get there on his own. Charlotte wouldn't be able to bring him back, but that was a small price to pay if he could just touch that golden pond one more…

  No.

  Malcolm flipped the mirror over again and put it back on the chair. A stronger man might have broken it, but it took all of his willpower just to walk away and not look back. The voices followed him over to Carol. They laughed at him now. He shook his head, picked up the sleeping girl, and left the study before they could convince him to take another peek.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “You can stop pretending,” Malcolm said. “I already know.”

  Charlotte and Paul looked at each other, rubbing sleep from the corner of their eyes. She looked down, blushing when she noticed her exposed skin, and covered herself up with the sheets.

  “Man,” Paul said, sitting up against the headboards. “Was it that obvious?”

  Charlotte covered her face with her hands. “At least you could have knocked…”

  Malcolm shrugged. “I was a private detective, remember? I notice things. Sorry. I've never been big on manners.”

  “Can't we do this later?” Charlotte said. “Please.”

  “No,” said Malcolm. “You two need to know what's going on—what I saw tonight.”

  Charlotte disappeared in a whoosh of air that ruffled the covers. Malcolm and Paul looked around the room for her, but she didn't show herself again until she stepped out of the bathroom wearing a robe. “Sorry. I should have warned you first. I know you still aren't used to that. Look, Malcolm. If it's about the voices again I'm working on—”

  “No.” He shook his head. “They're still yapping away, but that's not why I'm here. It's Carol—I found her in the study.”

  Charlotte's eyes widened. “What? No one's supposed to be in there. It's too close to the gate.”

  “I know. She wasn't in her bedroom. When I went looking that's where I found her. She seemed like she was in some kind of trance—more than usual, I mean—just sitting there staring at that mirror. I had to pull her away.”

  Charlotte grabbed his arm with one hand while the other went to the pocket in her bathrobe. “Where is she now? Tell me you didn't leave her in there.”

  “She's fine.” Malcolm took the lighter from her trembling hand and pressed it against her cigarette. “I'll take one of those if you don't mind.”

  Charlotte shrugged and handed him a cigarette. She opened her mouth to speak, then changed her mind and took a drag instead. They watched her inhale and let out a giant cloud of smoke.

  “She's sleeping in my bedroom now,” Malcolm said. “I locked her inside. She doesn't need to hear this.”

  “Hear what?” said Paul. He sat on the edge of the bed, running his hands through the tiny patch of hair on his chest.

  “How she went completely nuts. She kept talking about how her 'mother' was calling her.” He looked at Charlotte. “She said her mother was coming to see her and Nora real soon.”

  Color drained out of Charlotte's face until it was the same shade as her cigarette. “Those demons must have a way to communicate with them across the worlds.” The cigarette trembled between her fingers, shaking off ash onto the floor. “This doesn't make sense. I checked the girls for marks and didn't find any. They might have another way to track them.”

  “So what are we supposed to do?” said Paul. “Just wait for them to come find the girls? I don't think they'll be too happy to see us either.”

  Charlotte shook her head. “Let me think. I'm working on it.”

  “No,” Malcolm said. �
�There isn't any more time. We have to get out of here, and you know it. We can't stay here forever.”

  “But what about that sheriff?” said Paul. “You know he's still looking for us.”

  “Maybe he'll ease off if you let me show him Nora's still alive.”

  Charlotte's cigarette fell to the carpet. She pressed it out with her bare foot and swore. “No. Absolutely not. I don't trust that man. There's something dark about his soul.”

  Malcolm held up his hands. “Paul?”

  Paul chewed the corner of his lip, working it like a wad of bubble gum. “We can't let her end up in the system when she wants to stay with us. If we let her go now we might never get a chance to cure what those tanks did to her. No. Not when there's a chance Charlotte can make this right. Sorry, man.”

  “I can't say I'm surprised you took her side,” Malcolm said.

  “It isn't about that…”

  “What is it about, then? Hiding out like criminals? Just when I had the chance to live a respectable life—okay, maybe not respectable, but at least a normal life—and now we're stuck here. Waiting to get hunted with these goddamn voices driving me nuts.”

  “Malcolm,” Charlotte said, stroking his arm. “I'm working on it. I promise. Just give me a little more ti—”

  “No.” He wrenched his arm away. “You don't understand. If I don't get some of that golden stuff soon...”

  “Please just relax,” she told him. “We'll seal off the study tomorrow morning. I have some ideas to help with your situation. It's just a matter of getting in touch with the right people.”

  Malcolm looked at Paul, pleading with his eyes. “Come on. You felt it too—how incredible that pond was. I know you did.”

  Paul shrugged. “I think it's time to get some sleep, Malcolm. We'll see things clearer in the morning.”

  Malcolm left them there on the bed. Their lips moved when he walked out of the bedroom, but he couldn't make out a thing they said. All he heard were the voices coaxing him, urging him to hurry back to that mirror. Just one more look.