The Gathering Dark

03

Amused, the demon's crimson eyes bored deep into my soul. "How astonishing this is. I was beginning to think all her words had been a lie."

Something stirred within me, a deep-seated anger at the demon. I wondered at it, but shrugged it off as stemming from my forced confinement.

"Azriel, let her go!" Claude pleaded. "She has nothing to do with this!"

"Oh but she does," Azriel's eyes flicked at Claude. "She kept her end of the bargain...and so must I."

So that's the name of this batshit crazy demon! What is he even talking about? I looked at Claude and saw that he was as perplexed as I was.

Several black tendrils wafted slowly in the large receiving hall, forming into dark, individual shadows that gathered around us. Sibilant whispers echoed around the room as vague shapes of men and women materialized from the shadows. I can faintly make out their formal, nineteenth-century garb, their bodies horribly burnt beyond recognition.

If I had not been so accustomed to seeing the dead, I would have fainted.

'Wraiths?' I thought. No, something else--something more sinister and dark as their faces radiated with an ancient hatred--

--hatred directed at Claude.

I gasped at the malevolence emanating from them, instinctively moving toward Claude.

As I moved, they suddenly turned their attention on me. With a shriek, the shadows rushed at me with clawing hands as I shrank back. But to my surprise, their icy touch merely passed through me.

"Leave her alone!" Claude commanded, stepping between me and the shadows. They drew back at his voice, their hatred mingling with a sense of desperation.

"They cannot harm you," Claude said softly to me. "They want what I cannot give them."

"And what do they want?" I asked, my eyes still locked on the shadowy figures.

"I--"

At Claude's silence, I glanced back at him. He was staring at his hands, his eyes filled with anguish. Those long, slender fingers--a pianist's prized possession--shook so hard, before he clenched them into fists.

The shadows whispered around us.

"Maestro...."

"...it is time..."

"time..."

"...we.... beg you...."

"Silence!" Azriel's voice thundered from where he sat by the fireplace, causing the shadows to cower in fear. Then he seemed to relent, saying to them in a soothing voice, "Listen, my dears. You'll have your chance soon enough."

"As I was saying--before I was rudely interrupted by a flying vase," the demon looked pointedly at me. "Your very presence has set in motion what was promised to me, precisely a hundred years from this day. Call it a wager, or a game. And the prize?"

His crimson gaze focused on Claude as he made an expansive gesture. "The prize is your release, my master. And that of the lady, of course."

"And what of the wager?" Claude asked in a tight voice.

"Master, isn't it obvious?" He gestured at the shadowy forms who had quieted down, standing as still as statues. "Look at your patrons. Don't you think they've waited long enough?" Azriel smiled coldly. "Your ineptitude binds them like a curse and only the power of your music can free them. Produce the most ethereal composition to satisfy their desires and earn their freedom and yours. Fail--and I will hand the lady over to them to tear limb from limb, before I dine on her soul."