Accursed by Amber Benson Page B

rodent. The tongues of devils are not for human ears. But to me . . . Your offspring might cage me, old fool, but I am not alone.
    “The masters of the deepest pits speak my name, and I heed them. All the merriment of Hell unfolds for my amusement. I am eternal, sir. And if I desire it, I shall occupy this tender, rotting husk of yours until it stumbles its last, and the rush and throb of blood subsides.
    “Darkness is patient, Henry Swift. Ever patient. Ever vigilant.”
    There was a pause that followed, long enough that William became concerned. He wanted to look upon his father’s face, to see if he could locate the man behind those eyes, instead of the demon. But when he reached for the doorknob, Bodicea grabbed at his wrist.
    Her fingers were cold upon his flesh and he looked up at her, startled. It required constant focus for a ghost to make contact with the physical world. Their yearning for the richness of life caused most ghosts to concentrate upon the senses, so that they could see and hear and smell. Taste was possible, but only briefly, as their ephemeral substance could not contain food or drink more than a moment, if at all. Touch was the most difficult. It required intense focus for a specter to make contact with the natural world.
    The supernatural, however . . . that was different.
    The Protectors of Albion were human, but they were suffused with the supernatural. It required far less concentration for a ghost to touch William or Tamara than an ordinary man or woman. The touch was fleeting, for maintaining that concentration was difficult, but it was possible. The knowledge was what caused William to be so unsettled that Tamara had allowed Byron such access to her boudoir.
    Now, though, Bodicea’s grip on his wrist was like cold iron.
    And then her fingers passed through his flesh and bone, insubstantial again. But her message was clear. He should be silent and listen. There might be something to be learned, here.
    When at last Henry spoke again, William was surprised to hear laughter in his voice.
    “Do you mean to tell me that your masters—these things from the deepest pits, as you say—they know where you are?”
    “Of course. Nothing escapes their notice.” Oblis snorted.
    “And yet they do nothing to free you? Apparently you are even farther beneath their notice than I had thought. I’m both amused and disappointed. I’d hoped I warranted a more fearsome devil. Not some hellish court jester who—”
    “Enough!” Oblis roared. “You speak only at my sufferance, fool.”
    “And why is that?” Henry asked. “Why allow me my voice at all? Could it be that you know the truth? That you have been abandoned? You want to be quit of your prison just as much as I wish to be free of mine. Perhaps, if you agree to leave me, Tamara and William will permit your departure.”
    The demon laughed then. The sound was sickening, so that William felt bile burn up the back of his throat. He could barely hold on to the plate of breakfast he had brought for his father. For the demon, so that his father would survive.
    Now he glanced at Bodicea. Her eyes had narrowed, and rage danced in them. If she had a voice in the decision, Oblis would not be allowed to leave. Not after what the demon had done to her daughters, those long centuries ago.
    “You are a fool, Henry Swift,” Oblis sneered. “Whatever you have seen in the depths of your own soul, you are mistaken. I enjoy the company of your children. I enjoy the pain in their eyes, every time they see me. In fact . . . William, it would be lovely if you would abandon your eavesdropping now, to bring me my breakfast before the kippers have gone entirely cold.”
    William froze. He held his breath. Oblis knew he was here. Perhaps he had smelled the bacon, or the kippers. Perhaps that meant the demon had known he was listening to the entire exchange. Which, in turn, called into question all that William had gleaned. How much of what had been said was for his