Chapter Nineteen
Now it was becoming clear they were both in way over their heads.
Murron cast another worried glance in Crowley's direction. He was slumped at the kitchen table, head in his hands, the glass of Craig untouched in front of him. It had been an hour since she'd summoned him back to the cottage; he'd been silent ever since. Unable to speak or even begin to assure him he would figure something out, Murron hung back and pretended to do things in the living room. In truth, she kept having to bite down on her knuckles to prevent the scream that constantly threatened to escape her. Angels, fallen or otherwise, were closing in on them and neither were quite as prepared as they'd hoped. With only one blade between them, and possibly useless against at least one of their enemies, their situation had grown dire.
Murron considered returning to Balthazar despite his order to never come to him again. He was her only real source for anything like this; surely he had to know something. If she could discover anything that could help, it would be worth risking his displeasure. He was just a man, after all.
Carefully and as softly as she could, Murron descended into the cellar and whispered Victor's name. The demon appeared shortly after and looked at her expectantly. Murron quickly revealed her plan to return to Balthazar's villa, her hand covering the coin so Crowley wouldn't hear. Victor glanced up at the ceiling, knowing his master was there and could easily disapprove, but at Murron's pleading look, he relented with a brief nod. Placing his hand upon her shoulder, Victor transported them back to the sprawling villa.
Balthazar's expression was grim when Murron had finished explaining her situation. He'd let her into his house with extreme reluctance, coerced by the desperation in her eyes. He struck Murron as a good man with perhaps a few amoral views, but a good man nonetheless. He listened patiently to Murron's tale, sighing heavily when he'd taken it all in.
"I don't know what you want me to tell you," he confessed, spreading his hands. "You've got two angry angels on your tail; what could I possibly do to help with that?"
"Do you have another weapon, maybe? Or a spell? Do you deal in spells, too?" Murron pressed anxiously. Balthazar could only shake his head. Murron fumbled for another suggestion, words and gestures falling short in equal measure. In the end, she dropped into one of the chairs and bent her head to her knees. "Then it's hopeless. We're going to die. Puriel and Baal are going to kill us."
"Now, darling, you mustn't sound so defeated," Balthazar soothed her, coming to stand behind her chair. "There's always a way. You just have to find it. I can't help you and honestly I don't think I would simply because of whom you serve. I already told you I wanted no more business with the King of Hell and yet here you are with your watery-eyed ingenue excuses. Really, my dear, you have me at a disadvantage. Unfair, really."
Murron lifted her head from her lap and cast him a cold glance. "Sorry to be an inconvenience," she said bitterly. "But you're right. If you can't and won't help me, I'm just wasting my time here." She rose and made for the door. Balthazar called out for her to wait; she turned halfway, head cocked to listen, but not look at him.
"Do you know what you summoned with that little sigil of yours? Has he told you that?"
"No, why would he?"
"Because he knows. Ask him. He might actually tell you."
Murron considered this possibility. She continued out without another word, nodding for Victor to take her home again, quite empty-handed.
Crowley wasn't in the kitchen when Murron came up from the basement. His glass remained on the table, still as full as when she'd left. She drew the coin from her pocket and put it to her ear. The faint rustle of fabric sounded from it, suggesting it remained in his suit jacket still. The sound was loud enough to reveal he was still somewhere in the cottage. Being that he wasn't anywhere on the lower levels, she could only deduce he was somewhere upstairs.
She walked upstairs quietly, head cocked to listen for any movement. The creak of the bed drew her into the bedroom and there she found Crowley with his back to her. He lay atop the covers, his suit jacket tossed carelessly on the foot of the bed and his shoes off. If a demon could be depressed, she suspected this is what it looked like. "Crowley?" she pressed softly.
"What." His voice was almost too low to hear, prompting Murron to move closer to the bed. She sat on the empty side of the bed, angled away from him as she felt he didn't want her to look at him just then. "Where were you, then?"
Murron shifted. "Just checking on my only source of information."
"And?"
"Nothing. He still wants nothing to do with me. Or you."
"Can't expect anything less. You are working with a demon, love. Expect a lot of slammed doors."
"Realising that," she replied quietly, absently plucking at her skirt. "We really are on our own now, aren't we?"
"So it would seem."
"And you have no ideas, no tricks up your sleeve as to how we can manage this?"
Crowley sat up, still refusing to look at her, and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Murron dared a glance behind her. His hair was mussed, sticking up almost comically. Never before had she wanted to smooth it and hopefully smooth more than that. She knew it wasn't within her power to take away all of his concerns or even help him conceive new solutions to them. There wasn't much she could do for him, period. The silence stretched between them almost unbearably so. Murron felt as though her nerves would snap loud enough for him to hear the tension was so thick.
"I am so close," Crowley said suddenly. "And this...pigeon stands in my way still. I would rip the Grace from him with my bare hands if I could." His voice was deeper than she'd ever heard it, taking on a gravelly quality that made her skin crawl. It had been easy to forget he was a powerful entity, being on his 'good side' and all. To hear him speak of murdering the angel with his hands alone gave her pause. "I knew it had been too easy then."
Murron repositioned herself on the bed to face him. "Is there anything I can do for you, Crowley? Anything at all?" She wanted so much to help him, to take away that self-doubt so evident in his voice. He'd always been so confident and sure of himself; witnessing him at this weak moment was almost indecent. She wanted him to tease her, to joke, to make some cheesy innuendo, anything but what he was doing now. More than anything, she wanted to feel free to take him into her arms and kiss away his cares. But he wasn't like everyone else. To do so could be insulting.
"No, love, I don't think you can," Crowley told her with more kindness than usual. He turned his head so she could see his full profile, his eyes downcast. "You should work on your own problem. At least you can do that, right?"
"I'd never be able to concentrate," Murron admitted with some shame. "I'd be too worried about you."
"Emotional ties are a weakness, Murron. Your enemies will seek it out and use it to destroy you."
"Perhaps, but they're not here right now to know of them." She gave a small, mirthless laugh. "I wouldn't care if they did know. I find no shame in what I feel."
"Terrible, terrible liar..."
"Maybe. But what good does it do for me to be open about it when they have no real outlet?" Murron clasped her hands tightly in her lap, staring down at them with a pinched expression. "If I do feel shame, it's my own to deal with." She sighed, swiped at her eyes, and made to stand. "I'll leave you alone, then."
"Murron."
She looked back at him. She could still see part of his face, his mouth hidden behind his shoulder. She waited. His eyes closed briefly, as if considering what to say next, his brows drawing over them. His expression appeared almost pained to her; her breath caught. Then, when he stretched his hand out to her without another word, Murron swallowed hard on the cry that sprang into her throat. Slowly, she rounded the bed and came to stand before him. He kept his gaze averted as he gripped her wrist and pulled her down beside him. He held her hand in his between them, resting it where their knees touched. Murron made to look at him, only for him to direct her face forward again. Whatever was hidden in his eyes he didn't want her to see. So she kept her gaze ahead of them, staring without seeing out the window. They sat like that for a long time, the only sound being the lazy afternoon song of the birds outside.
Believing it better to distract herself, Murron went back to the cellar to scry for the other witches in Patience's coven. She watched the crystal swing above the table, the gleam of its faceted form blurring as her gaze unfocused and her thoughts roamed. Crowley remained upstairs by himself, undoubtedly still troubled by the seemingly huge task looming before him. Part of Murron hoped she'd be able to discover something about killing angels from her own problems; if the witches had been working with Puriel for a long time, they could have angel lore she and Crowley lacked. There was an impressive chapter on angels in the grimoire, along with the Enochian spells and meanings, but insofar, the only offensive entry was the one she'd made about the sword.
The crystal stopped above a town a few miles from the cottage. Murron wrote the address down mechanically, still not sure her mind was completely in the task at hand. If she went in half-cocked again she could be in serious trouble. Just because these witches supposedly gave off weaker auras didn't mean they couldn't take her down as easily as Patience had. Murron would have to center herself if she expected to return.
She pocketed the address and moved to the altar, kneeling before it. Now would have been a good time to have a patron god or goddess to pray to, she realized with some sadness. How indifferent could they be, really? Would they judge her for working with a demon, let alone giving her heart and soul to one? Her brow furrowed. Gray deities existed, but she knew next to nothing about them. So, in place of a name and a face, she sent her thoughts into the universe, just as she had with Crowley's sigil.
A gentle breath of wind, scented with musk, drifted across Murron's hair. As it stirred the copper locks draped over her shoulder, she felt her concerns melt away, replaced only by the memory of why she did anything these days. She fought for Crowley, even if it was her life in jeopardy thanks to the white witches and not his. Still, her association with him could easily make him a target; no way would an angel permit a demon to live, especially if they knew how to find him. It was a curious thing: her love empowered her to fight. Could love be channeled through black magic? Wasn't it often considered a positive, wholesome emotion?
"Not always," a soft voice said into the stillness. Murron opened her eyes and blinked to see a strange woman sitting at the lecturn. "Love can move mountains, Murron, even if those mountains are volcanoes." The woman turned sad brown eyes to Murron, the kohl around them smudged from what she could only assume were tears. "You dare to love a dangerous thing."
"Who are you?" Murron asked, slowly rising from her kneeling position on the floor. The woman absently plucked the quill from the ink stand and twirled it between her long fingers.
"I am Kali. You summoned me with the sigil inscribed on your demon's chest," she replied quietly. "I have been helping him, though I feel it has done him little good."
"Kali?" Murron breathed, awestruck. "I didn't have anyone in mind when I asked for his protection and you don't strike me as a goddess who would be concerned with protection or love. Why did you respond?"
Kali replaced the quill and faced Murron. "I have loved an impossible thing before as well. He was far more receptive of my love than Crowley seems to be of yours, but then," here she paused, her gaze drifting to the side as memories played out in her mind, "he was an entirely different creature, my Gabriel."
The sadness in Kali's voice caused tears to prickle Murron's eyelids. "Gabriel? Your love was an angel?"
"Yes. A bit cowardly, but he fought when he had to." Kali smiled, a gentle, far-off thing. "He fought his brother so that I might live. In essence, he died for me. And for other things, but those concern me less and less."
"I'm sorry," Murron whispered, bowing her head. Kali made a dismissive noise.
"It does me little good to be bogged down in sentiment. I remember him as well I choose to, as well as he would have me remember him. It is enough." Kali eyed Murron meaningfully. "You would die for Crowley, wouldn't you?"
"Yes, I think I would. I know I would. But I fail to see how that would help him. I'm more useful -"
"Useful?" Kali interrupted, her voice rising. "You value yourself so little that you consider yourself to be merely 'useful' to him?"
Murron was taken aback. "Well...I don't think I value myself any less now than I did before, but I was already prepared to die within the year. At least now I have some meaning behind it."
"Is that what you call it? Meaning? Useful? You have great strength within you, Murron Guthrie, strength you all too often ignore in favor of believing yourself less than you are. You could have broken Patience's hold on you at any time. Crowley is strong because he holds himself in extremely high esteem. His self-preservation, while sometimes a disguise for his cowardice, serves him well. It grants him power. It is desperate power much of the time, but power nonetheless. You say you don't care if you live or die. How do you think that reflects on his opinion of you?"
"He wouldn't tell me even if I asked," Murron insisted, genuinely at a loss. She wasn't sure what Kali wanted her to say.
"That is your excuse?" Kali pressed. "If you demanded it, he would tell you anything you wished to know, even some you might never have thought to ask for. Crowley respects power, Murron, power and determination to survive. It would appear to me you're simply 'phoning it in' with your love."
"Now hang on a second!" Murron started, insulted. Kali silenced her with a gesture.
"Listen and be still. I do not tell you these things to insult or offend you. I am simply trying to understand how you expect to capture and hold the heart of something as strong as Crowley. Do you think your puppy love, your simpering apologetic sympathies and empty assurances make him eager to open up to you? He has placed his life in your hands multiple times and while you have succeeded admirably in these tasks, he still has his doubts because you fail to put that same effort into keeping yourself alive. The demon he assigned to you was not because he wanted to keep you safe. It's because he doubted you could do it yourself."
Murron didn't know what to say. She stumbled against the altar, knocking a chalice over when her hand fumbled behind her for support. She wanted to deny Kali's words, to swear she did care about herself as much as Crowley cared about himself, but the words died on her lips before they could be given breath. Everything the goddess said rang true. True and desperately painful. She wanted to collapse to the ground, to stay there, burdened by the truth of her own weakness.
Crowley had confessed to being annoyed, even angry, by her self-denial. At first Murron thought he simply didn't understand the impact intimacy would have on her emotions, being a demon and potentially incapable of such things. There was no honor in carrying the weight of her desire and longing for him, especially when it seemed to hold her back. The skills he'd given her, possibly granted so that she might achieve her full potential and surprise herself? To maybe take a moment to stand up for herself, and only herself? She'd talked a big game a lot of the time, but it was always with the thought of Crowley in the back of her mind. Corrine? He'd done more than she had. The demons at her home? Crowley again. She was like the annoying sidekick the hero kept around simply because if they didn't, the sidekick would get itself killed.
Kali slid from the stool and moved to stand beside Murron. She placed a warm hand on Murron's shoulder. "Again, I do not tell you these things to upset you. You need to feel these emotions and these desires in order to fully realize your worth. If you're to stand with the King of Hell, you need to be more than just a 'witch'. You need to be worth his time."
Murron looked up at Kali, eyes wide. It was as if the goddess' touch had awakened something inside her, something that was now entirely too powerful to ignore. The heat from Kali's palm seeped into Murron's skin, spreading out from the point of contact to other parts of her body. She drew in a deep breath, alarmed by the intensity of her arousal. She took a few steadying breaths more, centering the fire that now settled inside her center.
Kali drew away from Murron, a secret smile curling her red lips. "Now go to him. You've waited long enough."
Murron cast the goddess another look, eyes bright with gratitude. She returned the smile, her heart racing within her chest. At Kali's encouraging nod, Murron raced up the cellar steps and ascended the stairwell with renewed determination.