What Crawls Below

16 § A Plague on Both Houses

Sometime during his self-pity session, Cyrus began to dwell on how easily Acheron had let a member of his congregation die. Sure, he couldn't have known that Cyrus wouldn't pull through--but why take the risk?

Then Cyrus remembered another recruit Acheron had seemed eager to forget: Janice.

With all that been happening, Cyrus had given the woman no thought since her disappearance. Now she front-and-center in his mind: the one that got away.

The only one that had gotten away.

Cyrus recalled how roughly he'd been roused from his sleep to be accused of her murder; Acheron's suspicion of him had been so intense, but since when was the demon's intuition wrong?

Cyrus didn't know what or why, but he was sure in that moment Acheron had done something to the missing recruit.

What wasn't Acheron telling him?

Cyrus was forced to tamp down these thoughts. His failure in saving Delilah had proven he was not ready to take the demon on. He erected a mental wall around his suspicions and dutifully adhered to Acheron's lessons for the following week, not daring to push his luck and leave the house just yet. Cyrus especially could not imagine stepping foot into the compound. Acheron's attempt at painting him as some messiah was obviously premature, and now everyone must have feared and reviled Cyrus.

Among the most interesting training sessions that week had come up when Acheron caught him dwelling on Delilah. The demon had entered the room as quiet as a whisper and Cyrus didn't have enough time to shield the images of her bloody body that were going through his head.

Unsure of what else to do to fill the ensuing silence, the heaviness in the air indicative of the demon's disapproval, Cyrus said, "It won't happen again. I won't fail you again."

"Pray that you're right," Acheron responded coldly. "Speaking of prayers—are you ready for your next lesson?"

There wasn't really a question there, with only one answer Cyrus could give. He nodded, and Acheron led him to the den.

Cyrus did his best to ignore the tingling along his spine that came alive each time he looked at Acheron. As the demon spoke, the two sitting in their usual position a few feet away from each other, Cyrus found it easier to forget his troubles and focus on the lesson. He knew, however, he'd never be able to let his guard down again; he would always have to devote a sliver of his awareness to keeping his feelings under lock and key.

"When you go looking for something," Acheron was saying, "it tends to find you. I have no doubt you'll find yourself capable of demonstrating this. Anyone somewhat removed from humanity is—demons, reapers, you."

Acheron went on to explain that names have power, and if anyone thought his own name hard enough he'd hear it.

"Mostly you don't need to listen for your name," Acheron continued. "A desire, a wish—any prayer will do. As soon as a person opens themselves up to a higher power, any of us may hear their call. You simply must learn to pick up on the frequency."

Acheron instructed him to clear his mind and meditate for several minutes. With Cyrus's eyes still closed, Acheron told him to open his mind and let the prayers come to him. As with many of the other things Cyrus had done, attempting to force something to happen didn't have a high success rate.

He sat in silence for several minutes, nearly getting restless, when he finally heard something other than his own thoughts: a little hum came to life in the back of his mind. Cyrus turned his attention to it and it slowly rose in volume, the static smoothing out and forming real words. A voice he didn't recognize--nasally and adolescent--was saying, "Is there anyone with us? Tell us your name."