Page 15 of Eclipse Born

“Thorough,” he said finally.

That was it. Not impressed, not grateful for the months of obsessive work, just... thorough. Like he was grading a homework assignment.

“Yeah, well,” I said, turning away before he could see how much that casual dismissal hurt. “Had to keep busy somehow.”

“The pattern suggests a summoning circle,” Cade continued, apparently oblivious to my tone. “Large scale. What's the target?”

His analytical detachment, the way he could discuss strategy without any recognition of what his absence had cost me, made something inside me snap.

“I don't know,” I said through gritted teeth. “Maybe you should ask your demon buddies. You seem to have spent some quality time with them.”

The words were meant to hurt, and they hit their mark. Cade's face went carefully blank, and for the first time since he'd walked through my door, I saw a flash of something real in his eyes. Pain, maybe. Or just the memory of it.

“That's enough,” Sterling said firmly. “We're all on edge, but taking it out on each other won't help.”

He was right, but I didn't care. Six months of grief and fear and desperate hope, and this is what I got back? A hollow shell going through the motions of being human?

“I need air,” I said, heading for the door. “Figure out your next move. I'll be on the roof.”

I left them there—Sterling, the thing that looked like Cade, and my traitorous cat who'd already chosen sides. The night air hit my face like a slap, cold and clean after the suffocating tension inside.

Six months. Six months of believing he was gone forever, of slowly learning to live with the hole he'd left behind. And now he was back, but not really. Like some cosmic joke.

The memory hit me without warning, sharp as broken glass.

Three weeks after the gate closed. I'd driven out to a crossroads in the middle of nowhere, Nebraska. Middle of the night, dirt road intersection where the local ghost stories said you could make a deal with the devil.

I'd followed every instruction I could find. Buried the box at the center where the roads crossed—photo of myself, graveyard dirt, bone of a black cat. Waited exactly ten minutes before a woman in a red dress materialized out of the darkness.

“Sean Cullen,” she'd said, smiling with too many teeth. “I was wondering when you'd show up.”

“I want to make a deal,” I'd said without preamble. “Ten years off my life for Cade Cross's soul. Bring him back.”

Her smile had faltered. Just for a second, but I'd caught it.

“I'm afraid that's not possible,” she'd said, and for the first time in my life, I'd heard a demon sound genuinely regretful.

“Bullshit. You people love making deals. Soul for a soul, that's how this works.”

“Not this time.” She'd shaken her head. “Some things are off limits, even for us.”

“Why?” I'd demanded. “What's so special about Cade that Hell won't make a deal?”

But she'd already started to fade, and my next question had been directed at empty air.

Two days later, I'd tried again. Different crossroads, different demon. Same answer. By the fourth attempt, I'd stopped asking nicely.

The demon had been a middle-management type, all suit and tie and corporate speak. When he'd given me the same line about Cade being “unavailable for negotiation,” I'd put a bullet through his skull.

“Tell me why!” I'd screamed at his smoking corpse. “Tell me what makes him so goddamn special!”

But dead demons don't talk, and the living ones had stopped answering my calls.

The worst part? Some selfish corner of my soul was grateful. Even like this, even broken and wrong, he was better than nothing. Better than the endless wondering, the sleepless nights, the desperate hope that maybe the next demon would be different.

“Fuck,” I said to the empty sky. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

The sky, unsurprisingly, didn't answer. Just like every demon I'd tried to deal with.

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