Heretics book 3 - The Apocryphile Press

214 :: JOHN R. MABRY
Terry nodded curtly and set off with Dylan in tow. As soon
as the door was shut again, Richard walked to the bedside.
“So, Duunel, how’s tricks?” he asked.
“Have you come to torment me again, Christian?”
“Not at all. I thought maybe we’d chat.”
“I have nothing to say to you.”
“Well, then, we can sit here and stare at each other.”
And that’s what they did, for several minutes.
“Here’s what I don’t get,” Richard said, finally. “Why are
you holding so tenaciously to this body, Duunel? It can’t be
any fun any more. You’ve got to be feeling just as much pain
as old man Dane. Why stay in him? Why not inhabit the
young Mr. Dane? Or someone else of wealth or power or
rampant hedonism? Why stay here?”
“You are more ignorant than I thought,” Duunel hissed.
“I do not stay here of my own will, you idiot.”
“Then whose will compels you?” Richard had been just
passing time with Duunel while Dylan and Terry did their
thing, but now he was intrigued.
“The younger Dane’s,” the demon’s voice was raw with
rage.
“But, I don’t understand. Is the younger Dane a magician?
He doesn’t look the type. Too GQ for the hairball magick
set.”
“He is no magician. Magicians I can...deal with.”
Richard was becoming more curious with every second.
“So how can he possibly compel you?”
“Did you really not notice...the ring?”
Richard thought back to when he had seen Dane burst
into this very room just two days ago. His hands were wet,
his eyes wild with rage, his shirtcuffs open and flailing, and
on his hand...a huge, ostentatious red stone. Yes, he had
noticed it, but he’d simply taken it for a token of the rich
man’s vanity.