Demon Bound

muddy kerchief from his pocket into Hornby’s mouth.
    “Now what?” Pete said, fanning herself with an ancient, wrinkled copy of
Rolling Stone
printed in Thai.
    Jack sat on the single chair in the tiny room, across from Hornby, and stared intently at the other man. Sleeping, he looked like any hapless washed-up musician, in want of a shave, a shower, and a recording contract. Jack thought it was a good thing he knew better.
    “We wait,” he said. “And when Sleeping Beauty here sees fit to stir, we make him talk.”

Chapter Forty-two
    Night came to the world again before Hornby did anything but twitch and snore on the mattress. Jack had exhausted his supply of both fags and patience.
    “Welcome back,” Jack said when Hornby stirred. “You have a pleasant nap, Princess?”
    Hornby bucked, struggling like a trussed pig. “Let me go.”
    Jack grinned at him. “Tell me how you cheated the demon.”
    “Fuck you!” Hornby shouted, loud enough to echo through the village square.
    “All right then,” Jack said, standing. “We’ll be off to catch the last train. Pete, remind me how long a body can stand being without water?”
    “Thirty-six hours,” she said promptly, from where she leaned against the sill of the open window.
    “Thirty-six hours,” Jack murmured. “Less, in this heat. Lose water like a sieve in this country, me. It’s a trial for skinny blokes like us.”
    Hornby snorted. “Go ahead and leave me. I’ll just be-spell the knots.”
    “Ahead of you on that score,” Jack said. “I already be-spelled them. To stay tied.” He’d done no such thing—a spell like that would have taken supplies and time—but Hornby didn’t know. Jack crouched, taking Hornby by the chin. “Face it, Miles—you may be a hard lad, but I’m older and I’ve had more time to learn how to be a dirty low-down bastard.”
    “Just go,” Hornby groaned. “Every minute you’re here, he’s closer to finding me.”
    “Should have thought of that before you made the deal,” Jack said, picking up his kit and starting for the door. He fully intended to follow through on his threat if Hornby didn’t cooperate. Jack would be fucked, then, and Hornby might loose the knots in time to survive. Or he might not. Jack would be in Hell either way.
    “My sister had lukemia,” Hornby muttered when Jack and Pete reached the door. “My baby sister. I promised to keep her safe and they tell me she has two months to live.”
    “So you bargained with the demon,” Jack said. “Not the first sob story I’ve heard, mate.”
    “I never did a black magic spell in my life, I never even dabbled in scrying or cursing, until I made the deal.” Hornby sighed. “I used to be a decent guy.”
    Jack sighed, grabbed up a kitchen knife, and went back to the bed. “Miles, mate. Take it from me, we all used to be decent sorts.” He sliced Hornby’s ropes and sat him up. “No adorable little curses, now. Just tell me how you got out, and we’ll be on our way.”
    “Tell me what you did it for, first,” Hornby insisted. “Because somehow I don’t see you sacrificing your soul for a poor dying kid. Was it for fame? Sex?”
    “Mine was for being a fuckwit,” Jack said shortly. “Which is exactly the same as you. Dress it up how you like, but we’re both here because we made a shit choice.”
    Hornby shut his eyes, slumping back into the mattress like a puppet. “Suppose I did.”
    Jack wasn’t sure whether Hornby moved or whether he merely lashed out with magic and sent Jack sprawling, but he came up with an oblong black shape from under the mattress. “The difference between you and me is,” Hornby said, “I can fix my choice.”
    Jack called a shield hex, not fast enough. Hornby swung the gun to bear on Jack, causing Jack to scrabble backward. Hornby didn’t shoot, though. He snapped the pistol up, tucking the barrel under his chin.
    “I told you I’m not going back.”
    “Miles,” Pete said at the same time. “Don’t do that . . .”
    “Don’t be a wanker,” Jack supplied, their voices blending and tripping over one another like tangled strings.
    “I will never be free,” Hornby murmured. “I ran but it will find me. I know why I went to it in the first place and you’re right—shitty choice, shitty result.” Hornby met his eyes. “The difference between you and me is that I’m done running.” Hornby sighed, and Jack saw his shoulders relax, all of the tension and fear trickle from his