I don’t realize Phobos is there until the television volume lowers, his breathy voice makes up the difference between the silent dark nothing of Cain asleep and the rest of the room. “Necromancer, get him up. It’s time.”
If Cain’s still asleep then maybe I don’t want to wake him up. Maybe he needs his sleep. I can’t exactly explain that to Phobos, obviously. Without the television there’s very little for me to listen to, it’s already a strange muffled experience. I can’t tell where Phobos is standing, what he’s doing.
“Abel. Hey.” His fingers snap. “Necromancer. Wake your demon, let’s go.”
How many hours of bland, uninteresting programming did I not really listen to while Cain slept? How long has he been asleep? Why hasn’t he woken up, with Phobos hissing and snapping like this where I can hear, which means Cain can hear, and why doesn’t Phobos just wake up Cain himself? I have so many questions, none of the exact answers, but I can put together guesses. I guess I don’t really want to wake Cain either. Best case he’ll be grumpy. Worse case he’ll try to kill something, one of us maybe, actually now it makes sense because I’m the one thing in the room Cain can’t hit.
Cain? Cain, can you hear me? Phobos is back.
It’s a strange way to whisper, a strange way to try being soft and kind about this. I’ve thought a lot about things, about what Cain’s said, about what all I can do or maybe what I might be able to do. I’ve wondered a lot about the other necromancers Cain’s known. Necromancers who were smarter than me, who knew what they were doing and did it on purpose. Other necromancers, bossing him around, making him kill for them, killing for him, getting him hurt and then hurting him.
Cain?
He stirs this time, I put a bit more force into it. His eyes open to the shadowed cushion, his head turns some to knock the coat back. No sunlight, the brightness is from the overhead light fixture, so that tells me a little about how much time has passed.
Phobos is back, he asked me to wake you up. He’s somewhere in the —
Cain’s already on it, already sitting upright and searching. He finds Phobos standing several feet away, navy pea coat and dark skinny jeans, creamy white scarf bundled under his chin and white knit gloves on his clasped hands. He’s standing very still, very stiff, chin lifted and gaze firm on where Cain’s groggily half-aware and rubbing at his face.
“Get up,” says Phobos. His eyes shift to Cain’s boots on the leather upholstery. A frown pulls down the pretty line of his smile, but he doesn’t comment on it.
On the floor beside him is a canvas shopping tote, the side decorated in a burst of bright vegetables. One more mystery, why Phobos has all these grocery totes and a kitchen devoid of food. He picks up the handle on the tote and then steps toward the stairs. “Ready?”
Cain gets to his feet. “Sure.”
I wait for the why not? part of that answer, but he doesn’t say it. He flicks his attention to the television briefly and then looks up at the menacing woodblock letters so cheerfully inviting him to love and wish . Sincerely meant as the home sweet home over the front door, I’m certain.
Phobos descends the staircase. “Come on, let’s go.” Cain follows him, but stops at the halfway point when Phobos says, “I’ve thought of a better plan.”
In the entry, Phobos turns to see Cain glaring down at him. I agree entirely with Cain’s decision to wait for an explanation before going further, but he should say something. I’m not sure Phobos is going to understand otherwise, he doesn’t know Cain like I do. But Cain says nothing, he continues down the stairs. He keeps an eye on that home sweet home threat, doesn’t seem keen to put his back to it to follow Phobos through the laundry and utility nook, that tight blind-turn of closed doors that leads into the garage.
Cain, if it was a trap he wouldn’t have said anything. I think, I’m not sure, but I don’t like this. What’s in that bag he’s got? Can you see inside it?
Cain reluctantly pulls his gaze off the black-painted letters and catches up with Phobos. He tries for a glance inside the tote, but it’s a confusing half-second of colors and shapes I can’t make sense of — fabric, pink, black, something plastic maybe.
I couldn’t see anything. Didn’t look especially harmful though? I’m not sure.
Cain’s shoulder lifts some. I’m not exactly certain what that means, but it’s an acknowledgment at least. We’re on somewhat speaking terms, I guess, despite how awful I’ve been to him.
Phobos pops the locks on the SUV and starts up the engine from the fob. The rumbling strength of the hulking vehicular beast quiets into a gentle purr once we’re inside it, once the doors close to the cozy, dark interior. The canvas tote stays in Phobos’ lap.
“Okay,” Phobos says. Bracing himself for something that can’t be good. Despite the engine being started, the automatic garage door stays closed behind us. The doors are locked, and I bet Cain’s door won’t unlock if he tries the handle.
This feels entirely like a trap. The stiff set of Cain’s shoulders tells me he feels it, too, he feels as trapped as he is. I have no idea what Phobos is planning or what might happen. That’s terrifying, but I have to stay calm. I have to stay calm about things, no matter what happens. That’s somehow even more terrifying.
Phobos crushes the fabric handle of the tote between his gloved hands. “I want to talk to your necromancer,” he says. He looks directly at Cain, looks beyond Cain, his gaze seems a little unfocused somehow. He knows I’m in here, same as he knew Cain was inside me when we first met.
Cain, can he see me? Can he hear me?
“No,” says Cain. It suits for the answer to Phobos as well, but just from the way he’s said it I know that’s not the case. He would have answered Phobos differently otherwise. He wouldn’t have tapped his finger against his thigh enough times for me to notice otherwise.
“I talk to your necromancer or this doesn’t happen,” Phobos says.
“So talk. He can hear you.”
Phobos’ eyes narrow. “I’m aware of that. You know what I want, don’t play coy. Let him come talk to me. I only have your word he’s going along with this.”
“You think I’d be here if he didn’t want me here?” Cain’s more incredulous than sarcastic.
“I think you’re an especially clever demon or an extremely cruel one. This could be a trap,” says Phobos.
Tell him it’s not. Remind him about how we found him, that business card he gave me. You wouldn’t have known about that if not for me.
“Won’t matter,” says Cain. He turns his head some without taking his eyes off Phobos. “If he doesn’t believe me, then he doesn’t believe me.”
Well, then, I’ll talk to him.
Tightness drags Cain’s brow together with enough force I can actually see it at the top of his vision. I see the inward invasion of his scowl. His gaze flicks away from Phobos to the dashboard, the windshield, the dark-tinted windows that make this a terrible dark, tense moment.
Cain? I’ll talk to him. How do I do that?
The tapping of Cain’s finger against his thigh starts up again, turns into a clawing motion. “Fuck me,” he whispers. To himself, I’m pretty sure, he’s soft enough I’m pretty sure it’s not meant for anyone else besides himself. I’m certain that’s not my actual answer.
I won’t say anything about it, then, won’t ask what’s wrong. I won’t get pushy or panicky. I just wait.
“Be quick,” Cain says. “For fuck’s sake, be quick ” He takes in a few quick breaths, lets them out as strong puffs like getting ready to move a heavy piece of furniture. His tone turns brisk, less desperate and trapped, he’s snapping at me so that I know what’s wrong even before he says it. “You’re taking over, Abel. Got it?”
I think so. I think I can do that. Like at the crash? Is there a better way though? That hurt. Cain, wait, wait, that really hurt when I did that —
“S’fine! Just do it, Abel, stop making me wait. Do it.” Cain closes his eyes, winces them shut actually, so I really don’t want to do this. I think this is going to hurt one of us, and I don’t think Cain’s going to let that be me this time.
Maybe it’ll be better, since he’s not so hurt already, he’s rested, that was just right after the crash, and I hadn’t been in Cain’s body long. Maybe that’s the trick, maybe I don’t need to be scared. I can’t do this if I’m scared and panicking, I know that, I have to stay calm.
I don’t give Cain any warning, since he’s braced and ready. It’s pushing forward into a lack of resistance, wispy bare sensation of pushing a door open at the same time someone’s pulling it. Physical awareness turns from an echo into a roaring cacophony of too many things all at once. Rather than try to fight for understanding, I tumble helplessly into the torrential flow. I won’t struggle, won’t panic, I know I can’t do that. I stay calm. I can do this.
It’s easy, comparatively, and also impossibly hard. I hear the ragged pant of Cain’s breath first, register the lidded darkness is under my control. Awareness of the seat beneath me is pressure to match context. I know where I have to be, besides inside Cain, I’m in the front seat of a car.
Hey? Abel?
Tentative, like he’s not even sure where I am. I hope it’s not because he isn’t sure suddenly where he is. I’m not sure I can do this without Cain.
“Yeah.”
Cain’s voice, with my inflections, sounding relieved and sighing, tension going slack from my shoulders. Cain’s shoulders, but they feel like mine. So long as my eyes are closed like this, it’s hard to tell much of a difference. There are a million differences, an infinity of complications and nuances, but I’m not going to focus on them. I’m going to focus on staying perfectly calm.
Okay. Good. You’re doing great, sweetheart.
I’m not even going to be insulted that he sounds surprised. I draw in a breath and then open my eyes. Looking at my lap is too strange, because it’s Cain’s hands I see, Cain’s denim-clad thigh, that stolen wool coat. I quickly pull my head up, turn toward Phobos.
“Okay. Let’s talk,” I say. “Now I’m Abel.”
He’s wide-eyed, tense, I think it’s rather strange that Phobos would look intimidated considering this was his idea. That should be enough warning, but it isn’t. Neither is the canvas tote being opened, Phobos’ hands hiding in his lap beneath it, none of this is enough warning. It’s only when he lunges forward that I realize this is the trap.
Shit!
Cain’s commentary, not helpful, because I think we both panic at the same time. I jerk in the seat trying to do two things at once, one of us wanting to run and one of us wanting to fight. I don’t even know which is which, who is who, what we’ll do. Phobos grabs hold of my arm — Cain’s arm — he slaps the handcuff into place. The fact that the handcuffs are pink and fuzzy makes them seem all the more menacing.
I shriek, Phobos yelps, Cain’s silent. Cain’s completely silent.
“What did you do? What is this?” I wave the handcuff around, feel terrified to touch it even though it’s touching me. Phobos has retreated into the door, gotten out of immediate reach, and I know without Cain needing to tell me that I shouldn’t try leaving the car. The handcuff isn’t attached to anything, he’s left one cuff secured closed but empty.
“Where’s Cain? Cain?” He’s not saying anything, he’s not fighting me for control. I don’t know what to do in this situation so I won’t even fight him actually. I’ll let him take back over, this is his body, we wanted this to be quick.
I round on Phobos with a furious accusation. “You said you wanted to talk!” Cain’s voice is so effective for shouting. I sound so angry. I’m this snarling, furious demon.
“I did. I do,” says Phobos. He’s still wide-eyed, looking like I might explode on him. I feel ready to, maybe I can, I’d rip his pretty face to shreds if it’d make him give me back Cain. Phobos winces a smile at me. “Now we can talk privately.”
“What did you do to Cain?” I demand. “Did you hurt him?”
“No, I didn’t. He’s fine. It’s just a binding,” Phobos says. He stares at me, stares at Cain’s body with me at the controls.
I wonder how different I look — he looks — all those hundreds and thousands of uncountable small details. My glare’s a firm line of mouth, narrowed eyes, tightness higher in my forehead and no invading fierce brows. “Undo it. Let him go. Unbind him,” I say. I grab for the handcuff and then yank my hand away with a flinching gasp. It’s a static-shock bite of warning
“Well, that’s part of the plan,” Phobos says. “The new plan. The better plan. I’m going to show up with as much of the truth as possible, because I’m a terrible liar. We’re going to tell Praxis that you’re stuck inside Cain. It’s more or less the same plan, only now it’s more believable. If I showed up with an unbound demon, no one would believe a word I said.”
“You’re taking him prisoner?”
Phobos shrugs. “Yeah, basically. He’s under arrest.”
I flex my left hand, the one handcuffed, and try my best not to think about it being Cain’s hands instead. I have to think of this as my body for now, I have to stay calm. If this starts to hurt Cain, he has no way to tell me. I can’t think about how much I don’t want to do this without Cain telling me how.
“You mean I’m under arrest,” I say. I look at Phobos, narrow my eyes at this snobby, stuck-up monster bossing me around. “I don’t like this plan.”
The slow-churning grind of the garage door announces Phobos’ intent. His head turns to check the clearance before he starts backing out of the narrow space. “It’s a horrible plan,” he agrees. “Did you have a better one?”
I almost tell him to fuck off, just because of how satisfying it will sound with Cain’s rough, snarky scorn. Instead I actually think about it for a moment and then reply, “Yeah. Yeah. I do. Release Cain. I’ll stay in control and we’ll do the Wookie prisoner plan if that’s your genius idea, but if I’m going to occupy Cain’s body then I need him here with me. That’s how it has to be. I cross with Cain, or none of us go.”
Phobos stops halfway out of the garage. He stares at me. “Praxis will know if I start lying too much. I can’t walk in there with an unbound demon.”
“Okay, well, I don’t know what that means.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Release Cain.”
Phobos keeps his hands on the wheel and his foot on the brake. The radio whispers exuberant in the stretching stubborn silence. “How old are you?” he asks me suddenly. “Fifteen? Sixteen?”
I want to lie or ignore him. Instead I warily tell him the truth. “Seventeen. Why? How old are you?”
He smirks, titter softly on a laugh. “Oh, honey. Honey, no. You are so young,” he says. Phobos shakes his head. “How old am I? What kind of –”
“How long have you been on this side? On my side. How long have you been pretending to be human?” I demand. This dumb fairy shouldn’t have told me he was a bad liar. He shouldn’t have gotten himself trapped in a car with a necromancer. I’ve got all these questions stockpiled, and if he wants me to cooperate then he better cooperate back.
“Ah.” Phobos says it such a distinct way that I know I’ve caught him somehow. Until he says, “I’m not pretending to be a human. I’ve just bound your demon, I hang out with a demon hunter and the wizard he’s fucking. I’m not a human. Do you mean this?” He gestures to his clothes, the car, leans forward to gesture beyond the front windshield at the luxurious townhouse. “This? This is hiding in plain sight.”
I resist the urge to look at anything other than Phobos, because now I suspect everything he does and says to be a trap. A lie, somehow, despite what he says about being a terrible liar. “You’re not mortal then, right? Am I? Do I get to live for hundreds of years now, is that part of being a necromancer?”
“Oh, honey,” is what Phobos says. “Your demon’s smart and cruel both if you’re this fucking stupid. You’re a human. If I slashed your throat right now, you’d die. Heart attack in your sleep, hit by a bus, stabbed in a duel, pneumonia, cancer, whatever terrible way, you’ll die one day. Having dominion over the dead certainly makes a lot of those terrible ways less likely, but one of them is happening eventually. Assuming you make it ten, twenty, thirty years — whatever, you’ll age and wither and fade and die. You’re mortal. You’re human. You’re just, different. Powerful.”
“Okay.” I have no idea what else to say to such a direct answer about what I am. I’m almost terrified to see what else Phobos will tell me, so long as we have each other trapped in this car. He’s still straddled half-out of the garage and unmoving, I’m sitting here with my hands in my lap.
The plan can’t move forward unless we agree on what it is. Right now the only thing Phobos and I have agreed on is not to kill each other — that’s the originally truce I offered. I promised my demon wouldn’t kill him. It’s the only way he’d agree to meet.
“What does it mean when you say Cain’s bound?”
“I took away his power, silenced him — he’s deaf, dumb, blind, bound. That’s a binding, he’s bound,” says Phobos. “It’s safer for everyone this way. I’ve bound him inside you, — or, rather, I’ve restrained him to … himself, so that you are here and not him. For the love of all that is beautiful in this world, must we play twenty questions about this? I am not an encyclopedia. Do you know how to use Google? Just take it with a grain of salt and assume everything is bullshit and you mostly have all the right answers.”
“I looked it up already,” I snap. Harsh, growling baritone sounds so unlike my own, and I try not to think about what Phobos said he’s done to Cain. I can’t think about what Cain might be thinking right now. It’s several deep breaths later before I’m calm enough to try speaking again, before I can be reminded of Cain’s voice shaping my words. I smooth my right hand along my thigh. “How will they know if he’s bound or not?”
“Unbound, his power will be enough to set off the wards Praxis has in place. Abel, do you know what you’ve done?” Phobos’ eyes go over me, head to toe, he looks at every inch of Cain’s body. “You gave him corporeal form. This isn’t a corpse he’s possessing. I can tell that. Praxis will know that. For this plan to have any chance of working, he has to be bound. That’s the way it has to be.”
“You should have told me that in the beginning.”
“Your demon would have never agreed.”
I shake my head. “No. No, you don’t know Cain, he’s more reasonable than he seems. You should have told me, you shouldn’t have trapped him like that. If it’s just that his power needs contained, fine. Make it so he can hear me then, so I can hear him. Let him see what I see. Do that first, then if he’s okay with this, we’ll do it. We’ll do this stupid plan.”
It’s the flat way Phobos frowns that tells me I’ve won. I’ve asked for something he can give me, I haven’t made an impossible request.
“You’re taking me with you to the Otherside.”
“I said I would. I meant it. I have no reason not to, right? That’s where you’re from originally, so if you want to go back there, fine. Get out of my world. If necromancers are humans, then that makes you and Deimos monsters. You said you killed –”
“I said Deimos killed,” Phobos corrects me. He holds up a slim finger. “Deimos killed. I merely did the navigating and driving, some mild assistance with the disposal. And, I’m happy to leave. Good riddance to your beautiful world.”
When he reaches for the handcuffs, I hold my hand out a little. Phobos picks up the locked empty cuff and then glances at me. “He’s going to be angry.”
“I know.”
He hesitates. “Deimos is right in trying to kill you. If you think he’s a monster, how many humans do you think your demon has killed?”
“So far none,” I reply. “Now release Cain.”
Phobos’ smile is the least friendly one I’ve seen so far. “Let me know if you change your mind,” he says. He snaps open the lock on the cuff. He leaves the other wrap of pink fluff around my wrist, but the empty end dangles free.
I settle my hands into my lap and wait. I can’t tell if anything’s different. I lift my gaze from my lap to look out the front windshield, the side window, but it’s dark. I turn instead to look at Phobos. “Did it work?” I ask him. “Does Cain hear me now? Can he see?”
“Yes.” Phobos’ response gets drowned into Cain’s, swiftly following.
Yeah. Yeah, Abel, fuck — sweetheart —
“I’m fine. It’s fine.” My reassurances growling in his voice. “I’m okay, I’m okay, Cain. I asked Phobos to do this for you, but, he says you can’t –”
No, fuck that, no —
“Cain, please, let me finish. Everything’s okay just calm down. Phobos told me the new plan. I haven’t agreed to anything yet, we’re still talking about what’s going to happen. No one’s going anywhere until I say so, okay?” I nod my head at Phobos until he starts to nod as well. “Put the car in park.”
Phobos does so, one perfectly-plucked eyebrow raised.
“Okay, then,” I say. “Okay. I want to talk to Cain privately.”
“No.” Phobos laughs at the same time, stammers further, “N-no way, you’re staying. Nuh-uh, honey, no way.” He shakes his head at me, grabs for the gear shift. Before I make up my mind about stopping him, he sets the car into reverse and keeps going, clears the garage entirely.
“I’m sorry, Cain. He says it has to be this way. I don’t think he’s lying. Or, at least, that –”
Abel, stop. It’s fine.
It’s abrupt and clipped, but there’s no inflection or much of a tone to it. He sounded frantic earlier only because of the swiftness, the rushed quality. He’s as hollow and empty as the dangling cuff now nestled in my lap. Cain’s lap. I swallow and have to look anywhere else, out the dark window and then my reflection. Cain, looking back at me, so that I flinch my eyes closed.
“How much more can you release Cain?” I open my eyes and look to Phobos. “What else can you give him?”
Sweetheart, it’s fine.
I don’t think it’s fine at all, because I don’t like the way Cain sounds. I don’t like this empty voice, because I can’t tell what he means. If he’s hurt, if I’m annoying him or amusing him, if he likes me or hates me or just even if he’s okay. I don’t think he is. I’m sure this must be terrifying. I certainly think it’s terrifying.
Phobos wavers a frown at me. “We are wasting valuable time. None of us want Deimos trying to stop this, so we need to leave. I’ll remove the binding once we’re in the center. Until then it stays in place. Praxis will know otherwise, there’s no other way. You don’t need his permission, Abel. You’re a necromancer, aren’t you? Pull the leash tight on your demon already.”
“Hold on,” I tell Phobos. “That’s not fair.”
Phobos blows out an exasperated breath as he jabs the automated door for the garage closed. “Yeah, honey, life’s not fair.”