My gaze roams the stage, expecting to find Phyre right alongside him, and having to stifle a gasp of surprise when I find Dace in her place. Bound to a chair placed at center stage, he’s surrounded by a number of tall cathedral candles with smoky, hissing wicks.
“It’s not too late—there is still time to be saved!” Suriel steeples his hands to his chest as one of his rattlers slithers around his shoulders and neck.
But despite the deliberately dramatic tableau and the ominous tone of his well-rehearsed speech, the crowd’s more interested in drinking and heckling than taking his message to heart.
Someone laughs.
Another yells something foul.
While someone else flings an empty beer bottle at the side of Suriel’s head.
But Suriel doesn’t so much as flinch.
He’s a man of conviction. Truly believing his own undeniable righteousness will save him from any abuse a sinful mob can hurl.
In that particular case, it does. Well, either that or a little thing called gravity combined with a really poor aim. The bottle veers wildly, landing several yards away from Suriel’s stage.
I return my focus to Dace, trying to get a read on why he’d choose to be up there.
Surely he chose to be up there?
He’s so much bigger and stronger than Suriel. There’s no possible way Suriel forced him.
Even so, what the heck is Dace thinking?
With unwavering concentration, Dace focuses hard on the writhing, hissing snake, oblivious to Suriel standing beside him.
“Don’t be fooled by outside appearances!” Suriel’s voice booms and pitches, his limbs shake with fury. Pointing an accusing finger at Dace, he urges the mob to move forward, get a better look.
The crowd quickly obeys, surging toward the stage while I remain firmly in place. Reluctant to make myself known until I have a better idea of what Dace has planned.
“Demons rarely appear in true form. They come in all manner of disguises, and one must remain vigilant at all times. Come now, boy.” Suriel retrieves a dagger from the top of his podium that reminds me of the one his daughter used when she tried to annihilate Dace’s soul. Thumping it hard against Dace’s shoulder, he prods at him roughly and shouts, “Show yourself to the crowd. Let these sinners see the true face of a demon!”
To my dismay, Dace is quick to submit. Rendering the drunks temporari
ly sobered as they watch Dace smile and wave.
“That’s not a demon, that’s Dace Whitefeather!” someone shouts, causing the crowd to roar, as another beer bottle is flung toward Suriel’s head, this one narrowly missing.
“This is a demon disguised as a human!” Suriel shouts. “And I’m here to prove it!”
The crowd, hungry for a spectacle worth watching, begins chanting, “Prove it—prove it—prove it!” As I stand shadowed among them, my fingers instinctively squeezing the pouch at my neck, desperate for answers.
What the heck is Dace doing? What is he thinking? And why is he staring at the snake when he should be watching Suriel?
“A righteous man, a truly righteous man of the Word, is always protected. I myself am living proof. Thirty years of handling the most venomous snakes in the world, and I’ve never been bit. But you, boy … I’m afraid you won’t be so lucky.” Suriel turns to Dace, places a hand on each of his shoulders, and gazes intently into his eyes. “Well, look at that!” Suriel lifts his chin, stares down the bridge of his nose. “Seems you got your soul back.” He flicks his tongue twice around his lips. Wipes his palms down the front of his cheap, poly-blend suit. “Don’t know how you managed it, but as far as I’m concerned, the pot just got sweeter!”
“Demons don’t have souls!” someone yells. “You’re a false prophet! You’re a—”
Before he can finish, Suriel shouts, “Demons are tricksters—abominations! And demons with souls are the most dangerous of all because they’re free to walk among us in human form!” Satisfied by their stunned silence, he returns to Dace and says, “Boy, I’ve just accused you of being a demon. Would you agree that my assessment is true?”
Dace shrugs. His vision not once veering from the snake, he says, “Guess we’ll find out.”
It’s a crowd-pleaser. Prompting the mob to break into loud, roaring laughter, whooping and cheering and egging him on. A few even run inside the club to tell their friends to come outside and watch.
“Don’t be swayed by what you see and hear before you!” Suriel cries, desperate to regain control of the mob. “A demon, a true beast, would never admit to his true identity. There’s only one way to separate the righteous from the sinful…” He carefully uncoils the snake from his neck and offers it to Dace. And that’s all I need to see to begin shoving my way to the front of the stage.
Maybe Dace isn’t up there of his own accord.