Death's Shadow (The Demonata 7)

Dervish strokes his beard, eyes narrow. “What do you want to talk about?”

I stroll to the chair where I usually sit and drag it around to the side of the desk, so I’m closer to Dervish. I hunch forward in the chair, maintaining eye contact. The words come by themselves.

“You never ask about Bill-E’s last day or his final thoughts.”

Dervish stiffens. “I don’t think we need to discuss that.”

“Why don’t you want to know?” I press.

“Did Meera put you up to this?” he says angrily. “She has no right. It’s none of her business.”

“No,” I agree. “It’s our business. And it’s time we dealt with it.”

“What do you mean?”

“You want all of Bill-E, his life from start to finish, wrapped up neatly like a birthday present. I can’t give you that unless I tell you about the end, what he felt in the cave, how he reacted to the news that Grubbs was his brother, that you’d lied to him all those years, that you allowed him to be killed.”

“I didn’t allow anything!” Dervish shouts. “Grubbs did what he had to. There was no other way. If there had been, do you think I would have let him… do that… to Billy?” He’s shaking.

“You’re right,” I say softly. “It was necessary. Bill-E knew that too. He didn’t understand everything about the tunnel and the Demonata, but he saw your pain. He knew you still loved him, that you had no choice. He died without bitterness.”

Tears well up in Dervish’s eyes. His hands are trembling as he nervously tugs at his beard. “He must have hated me,” Dervish moans. “I betrayed him. I didn’t tell him when his father died. He believed I was his dad. I should have—”

“He was disappointed,” I interrupt. “He wanted you to be his father because he loved you so much. But that disappointment didn’t change his love for you. In fact, in the middle of the madness, when he thought Lord Loss was going to slaughter you both, that love grew stronger than ever. He even found time to joke about it, but he couldn’t tell you because he was gagged.”

“Joke?” Dervish echoes, tears trickling down his cheeks.

“When Lord Loss told him you were only his uncle, he wanted to say, ‘Damn! I guess this means Grubbs gets half of your money now!’”

Dervish laughs and sobs at the same time.

“He was afraid,” I continue, recalling Bill-E’s memories. “But he didn’t resent you or Grubbs. He knew you lied because you didn’t want to hurt him. He wished you’d been truthful, but he didn’t hold your deception against you.”

“What about at the very end?” Dervish croaks. His fingers are balled up into fists. “Did he know what Grubbs planned? Did he guess we were going to… kill him?” The final two words emerge as a choked whisper.

“Yes,” I say sadly. “Bill-E was no fool. He saw it in your eyes.”

“Did he hate us?” Dervish cries.

“No. He blamed Lord Loss and bad luck, not you and Grubbs. In fact…”

“Go on,” Dervish says when I pause.

“He was pleased you were there. He was glad he was with the two people he loved most. He didn’t want to die a lonely death. He thought there was nothing worse than being alone.”

I’m crying as well now. I want to stop. I don’t want to hurt Dervish anymore. But I have to say it. I have to make him see.

“I don’t want to be alone either,” I weep. “I hate it, Dervish. Loneliness is horrible. I had sixteen hundred years alone in the cave. I thought I’d suffer forever, no escape, no company, not even the release of death to look forward to.

“When I finally walked free, I thought I’d never be alone again. But I have been and it’s awful, maybe even worse than in the cave. At least there I didn’t have any hope. But now that I’m so close to people… yet alone anyway… nobody to talk to or share my feelings with…”

“What do you mean?” Dervish says gruffly. “You have me. We talk together every day.”

“No,” I sniff. “You talk to Bill-E. You look straight through me. I don’t think you even know I’m there most of the time—you just hear Bill-E’s voice. You only care about a dead boy. You might as well be one of the dead yourself for all the interest you pay to the living… to me.

I’m crying hard, wiping tears from my face with both hands. Dervish is doing the same, looking at me and really seeing me—me, not a shadow of his dead nephew—for the first time.

“I didn’t know,” he groans. “I just missed Billy so much. I… I’ve been stupid and hurtful.” He manages a weak, shivering grin. I smile back shakily. He thinks for a moment. Then, looking as awkward as a boy on a first date, he holds out his arms. I don’t want to steal memories from him, but I need to be hugged, more than I ever needed a hug before. So I stretch my own arms out in response, my heart hammering with hope and joy.