Revenant(18)

Little Lucifer’s heartbeat sounded like a growl. Blaspheme’s ears throbbed with pain as the sound reverberated through the stethoscope, and the longer she listened, the more painful it got. A warm trickle of blood dripped down her cheeks, but for some reason, she couldn’t move. Warm, stinging liquid filled her eyes, too, and then her mouth went dry as she opened her mouth to scream —

“Blaspheme!” A voice broke through her agony, and she felt herself being shaken as she sat on the cold tiles. Her stethoscope lay next to her, covered in blood, and then Revenant’s stern face filled her vision.

“What,” she croaked, “what happened?”

“Your ears were bleeding and you were crying. Are you okay?”

“I… I’m not sure.” Even now, her ears ached and the room spun a little, but at least she no longer felt like her head was a giant pressure cooker. “I won’t be doing that again.”

“My Lucifer wants to devour you,” Gethel said, the glee in her singsongy voice sending a chill down Blas’s spine. “As soon as he’s able, he wants to fuck you dead. He wants to rip you in two and —”

Suddenly, the fires in all of the hearths whooshed out and Revenant was on Gethel, tearing her out of the chaise and slamming her against a pillar with such force that the thing cracked around the middle like a spiral bone fracture. All around them the building shook, and as swarms of demon guards rushed inside the room, they exploded. Simply snuffed out of existence in poofs of red mist.

Gods, the power Revenant wielded… she’d never seen anything like it. Didn’t want to see it again.

“If I were to kill you and your wretched vyrm offspring,” he snarled, “I would suffer at Satan’s hands like no one ever has. But it would be worth it. I’m not afraid of suffering, Gethel. Remember that.”

Blaspheme shuddered, unsure if Revenant or Gethel and her unholy spawn frightened her more.

And wait… vyrm? Gethel must not have been fallen when she’d taken a roll in the hay with Satan. Would stem cells taken from a vyrm’s amniotic fluid or cord blood be as helpful to her mother as emim stem cells?

Gethel made a futile effort to dislodge Revenant, but he might as well have been made of stone for all he budged. Finally, he released his hold and let her drop to the floor. Then, in a gesture that shocked the shit out of her after just watching him go as cold and deadly as a shark, he held out his hand to Blaspheme.

Blas hesitated, and a flicker of what she could only describe as hurt sparked in his eyes before freezing into a shard of ice. For some reason, the idea that she’d hurt him – hell, that he could be hurt at all – assailed her with guilt.

She could hear her mother’s voice now. “You’re too sensitive. Compassion will get you killed. Why couldn’t you have taken after me instead of your father? His angel goodness is bringing you down. You need to purge that weakness if you want to survive in Sheoul.”

Yeah, yeah, so she had a heart. When you were in the medical profession, having a heart was a good thing. Sensitivity helped you to relate to patients.

It also made you get too close and take things too hard when the worst happened.

Still, she wouldn’t trade away her ability to sympathize with her patients for anything. It made her a damned good doctor, and it kept her going to work every day instead of sitting at home waiting for Eradicators to find her.

Just as she started to reach for Revenant’s hand, he pivoted away to go park himself against the pillar again. He wasn’t much for offering a grace period, was he? She had a feeling he wasn’t generous with second chances, either.

Sighing, she pushed up onto her knees and gestured for Gethel to return to the sofa. The female shuffled over, shooting glares at Revenant, but she kept her mouth shut. Good, because everything that came out of it was unpleasant. Even when she wasn’t being crude and downright scary, she sounded like she wanted to be. Like she was mentally inserting things like, “in your blood,” and “while you scream,” into each sentence.

Once Gethel was seated, all prim and proper in that filthy, stinking gown, Blas rummaged through the jump bag for a blood draw kit, cursing when she realized she’d left the portable ultrasound machine at the clinic. Without it to show the position of the fetus, she couldn’t collect stem cells.

Unless her damned X-ray vision decided to finally come back online.

She gave it a try, her body buzzing and her eyes throbbing as she focused, but aside from a high-def flicker of Gethel’s subcutaneous blood vessels, nothing happened. Not visually, anyway. The scar on Blaspheme’s wrist burned as she strained, as if it were an overheating hard drive.