DAEMONEUM

by Laney McMann

  Lindsey’s expression softened. “That’s not what you are, G.”

  “Just … let me finish. When I realized I was gay I …” She let out a deep breath. “ … I tried to fight it. It was one more thing setting me apart from everyone else. I mean, I even dated Jake,” she half laughed.

  “I remember,” Lindsey said, flat tone returning. She crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe like this was going to be another long conversation she needed to prepare herself for. “It wasn’t very funny.”

  “Stop. We didn’t do anything.”

  Lindsey raised a single, annoyed brow.

  “Anyway,” Giselle rushed on, “my point is that Kade asked me how I was getting home without a car because I checked out early—”

  Her posture straightened. “Why’d you check out early?”

  “Because I felt like it. Will you let me finish what I’m trying to say?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Anyway … Kade asked how I was getting home, and I showed her my wings. She didn’t know what I was. I never showed her. Honestly, I never even thought about it. We’re all just … born like this, so it’s not anything to show off.” She rubbed her forehead. “But to her, to Kade, it was. To her it was a big deal. She wanted to know what avian form I took. Her whole face lit up when I told her like I’d given her a gift I didn’t know I had to give. And … I … I’ve been so focused on how shitty I thought my life was, and Kade, she doesn’t even have her wings anymore, only a scar where they used to be.”

  Lindsey averted her eyes.

  “She doesn’t even know who she is, really. Or who she was. She never would’ve known she was born a Primori if Cole hadn’t told her. Or that her true form is a sparrow. She lost everything, and … shit,” Giselle threw her arms up. “I’ve been a selfish asshole. I have parents who love me. Yeah, maybe I’m not a Beta like Danny, but they love me. My brother, jerk-off that he can be, is protective as hell, he loves me for me, and I know who I am. Where I come from and what I was born to be. And I know I don’t always show it, and I’m pain in the ass sometimes, but … I’m proud of who I am, and I’m proud of you.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. I’m … I want to try. I want to try to be done hiding and be brave about this. I know what I want. I’m afraid, I’m not going to lie to you about that, but I want us.”

  Lindsey opened her door all the way, and Giselle walked inside. Lindsey caught her by the waist and spun her so they were face to face. “You sure?” Her dark eyes implored.

  Giselle cracked a smile and kissed her.

  Lindsey smiled wide and ushered Giselle into her room. “You’ll be interested to know I’ve just been promoted to Beta.”

  “What?” Giselle sat on the bed.

  “Yep.” Lindsey closed her bedroom door. “That’s what the meeting with the Warden was about earlier. Granted, I didn’t know that until I got there.”

  “But—“ Giselle’s eyes screwed up for a second. “Under Jake?”

  “That would be our Alpha here at the Kinship, so yes.” Her tone was monotone, her expression, flat-lined.

  “Hahahaha!” Giselle died laughing and fell back on the bed. “You hate him.”

  “I’m aware.” Lindsey hadn’t moved from the door.

  “Hahahaha,” Giselle laughed harder.

  “It’s really not very funny.”

  “Well, congrats, I guess, that’s a big promotion.” She tried to stop smiling.

  Lindsey moved away from the door. “Not as big as you showing up here to tell me you’re seriously considering coming out.” She leaned down and kissed Giselle. “I prefer that promotion.”

  Cole walked the Warden into the main common house of the Brotherhood after he’d spoken to Kade and made his way to his dorm room with a mixture of relief, pride, and anxiety running through him. Sitting at his desk, he stared out the foggy window. Snow flurries drifted by, some hitting the glass and collecting along the sill outside.

  To his right, his wooden box of treasures sat under lock and key. To his left, a pile of books he’d taken from the Brotherhood’s library well over a week ago were in a neat stack. He’d read every one of them, done all the research he could discover about Anamolia and the fusionem crystal. He’d riddled it all out in the end, accomplished his goal, and most importantly made sure Kade was safe underneath the Brotherhood common house in the bunker. But there was something else eating at him that he couldn’t place, and it wasn’t only the burning sensation in his palm and forearm, the red lines climbing over him like a vine, or the persistent pain in his shoulder since his fight with Kyle in the Infernal Plane weeks ago.

  When he thought on it, it seemed too simple. All of it. Killing Dracon, learning Kade was an Anamolia—the only creature who could take down the Araneum and therefore kill the entire Primordial race. The weapon the Daemoneum had been trying to create for years and finally had.

  Not that any of it had been easy, learning what Kade was, falling in love with her, keeping her protected—it hadn’t been easy—but … there was something—something he couldn’t place. It was too quiet. Too … something.

  And as much as he tried, he couldn’t ignore the smell they’d encountered under the hollow sidewalk they’d found. Dracon couldn’t be alive, though. With the force of which he'd been thrown into the side of the mountain during his attack on Kade, Cole knew he wouldn’t have survived. But the Nefarius had been guarding something—or someone.

  Cole stared at his open hand. The red lines of a web looked as stark as ever. Something was familiar about it. He just couldn’t figure out what. The lines should be fading, or at least not moving the way Kade’s weren’t moving. The bond that had been created between the two of them when they’d both touched her fusionem crystal weeks ago was obvious—what it meant‚ what it was doing—he still didn’t know. It seemed his grandfather didn’t either. The theory about fusionem crystals was that they created amalgamations—Anamolia, so thousands of years ago all of the crystals had been found and destroyed. Since then, no one believed the crystals existed anymore—much less Anamolia existed.

  In normal circumstances, the entire Ward would have been notified that a fusionem crystal had been found, about Kade being an Anamolia, and Cole being affected by her fusionem crystal, but all of the circumstances were far from normal. So for now, and until they had more information, as his grandfather had put it, they were flying alone so as not to cause a full-blown panic within the race. Cole knew his grandfather was protecting Kade as much as he himself had been, and he loved him that much more for it.

  Getting to his feet, he made his way into the bathroom and flicked on the light. He drew his shirt over his head, dropped it on the side of the tub, and stared into the mirror. The lines on his palm, wrist, and forearm had started to travel up his bicep. Besides the burning sensation, nothing felt different. Issue was, he knew the stages of fusionem crystal alteration. He’d read all the books he could find on the subject when the lines had first appeared on his hand, and prior to that, his dad had made him read practically everything about everything.

  First stage of alteration were the lines themselves. Second stage: the lines created a moon in the center of the palm, covering the Primori star. The lines faded away over time leaving only the moon, and the Primori was Turned into a Primeva—a child of the moon, or better known as a Devil’s Child descendant. Giselle and Lindsey and Jake were all Primeva. It wasn’t the worst that could happen, Cole thought, they were good people—he just wasn’t sure how it would affect his rank within the Ward.

  Holding up his opposite hand, his star looked back, pristine as ever. There was no hint of a moon, or even a circle, over the Primori star. He released a relieved breath and let his hand drop to his side. The third stage, though, was the worst one. The symptoms were the same as the second stage except the person was Turned into an Anamolia—a Devil God—instead of a Primeva, but that was unheard of. Until Kade came long, Anamolia were considered a myth—there si
mply weren’t any. And during the attack, Dracon had admitted to Cole that there had been a lot of deaths before he’d finally been successful in Turning Kade into an Anamolia as a baby.

  Best case scenario, Cole thought, still staring at his arm—the lines faded and did nothing. That’s what he and his grandfather were hoping for. Cole still hadn’t completely explained all the stages to Kade, nor had he let her see how far up his arm the lines had crawled. He didn’t see the point. She had enough to worry about.

  Throwing his shirt on, he made his way into his bedroom and sat at his desk. In front of him, resting on the window ledge, was the framed coat of arms given to him by his mother when he was a little boy. It had been a while since he’d taken it out of his desk drawer. Unlike the Brotherhood’s crest of his common house, which bore a falcon with a fist, this coat of arms was from his mother’s family, his family.

  The name Colson was emblazoned across the bottom, written in elegant script within a scrolling red ribbon. The center of the crest revealed a red banner with four fleur de lis in a diagonal line, and at the top, his maternal family’s motto:

  Je mourrai pour ceux que j’aime.

  I would die for those I love.

  Cole had learned French from his mother when he was young, but he never spoke it. His father had hated the language as much as he’d hated English, preferring his son to speak in Latin at all times. Sometimes Cole wondered how his mother had convinced his father to name Cole after her side of the family. Granted, her family had come from Northumberland, a county in Northeast England. And thousands of years ago, before it became part of the English country, it had been part of the Roman Empire. Likely the only reason his father had agreed to the name. Roman descent.

  He’d barely known any of his relatives on his mother’s side of the family. All of his life it had always been his father’s side. It never bothered him. It was simply the way it was. Now and then, though, he wondered what Warden Caelius had told his mother's side of the family after she’d gone missing three years ago in the attack on the Araneum in Great Britain. No one had ever reached out to Cole from his mother’s side to see how he was after the incident—not his maternal grandparents or his aunts and uncles—none of his mother's family. They’d never been close, but he still didn’t understand it.

  Placing the framed coat of arms back into his bottom drawer, he unlocked the wooden box of treasures on his desk and brushed his fingers over the contents inside. The various medals of honor, his gold Astrum necklace from when he was a baby, and the photograph at the very bottom, turned facedown. Removing it, Cole flipped it over for the first time in three years.

  It was a picture of him when he’d been six years old, sitting on his dad’s shoulders. He wasn’t sure who’d taken it. His mother, he guessed. It was the only photograph Cole had of the two of them where they both looked happy—like a normal father and son. It was the reason he’d kept the photo when his grandfather had given it to him after his father died. Cole wondered what had happened in the time between this image of a father who’d seemed so happy with his young son on his shoulders, and the father he’d actually known, the one who’d forced him to electrocute himself during lightning storms in order to learn how to harness immense power, and made him travel back and forth through Leygates from Rome to England until he threw up. The father who’d grounded him for a month when he was eight years old for getting trapped in the Infernal Plane.

  Cole picked up one of the small pieces of paper from inside the box. Ducunt volentem fata, nolentem trahunt was handwritten in black ink.

  The fates lead the willing, and drag the unwilling.

  It was a quote his dad had always used—the Ward’s maxim—the Primordial’s motto. The one he liked the most. Cole, on the other hand, hated the saying and everything it implied.

  Gently, he placed the photograph back underneath the medals of valor and scraps of paper, face down, and closed the box, turning the key in the lock. Three years and nothing had changed about the way he’d felt the last time he’d looked at the picture—as if there was a missing piece to the puzzle of his life he would never understand—and never get back.

  Thankfully, his grandfather had more than tried to make up for Cole’s loss. They’d never been closer, and now he had taken Kade under his wing as her guardian. It made Cole prouder than he’d ever been. Maybe his father hadn’t been the best of men, but his grandfather was a great man.

  He leaned back in his desk chair with a sigh, and the wings on his neck quivered. Not that big of a deal if he’d been the one controlling them—if he’d been about to transform into the falcon. But this wasn’t that. This was an involuntary shiver of wings. He pushed away from his desk.

  When Cole was a little boy, he used to feel the wings that adorned his neck twinge from time to time. His father told him it happened because he was growing—coming into his own. He found out a few years later that it wasn’t the case. Far from it. Removing his phone from his pocket, he checked the screen. No missed calls. No missed texts.

  Danny walked through Cole’s bedroom door without knocking and plopped onto the bed. “What’s up?”

  Cole eyed him. “With?”

  “Don’t ‘with’ me. Why’s my neck jumping all over the place like my skin’s about to peel off?” He crossed his arms casually, staring up at the white ceiling.

  Cole smirked. When Danny first moved into the Brotherhood at the age of nine—when he found out he was a Primordial—he’d hated it—been afraid of everything about it, and he had no skills whatsoever. When he was named Cole’s Beta a few years later, he hated it slightly less. Until he realized what being an Alpha and Beta of the Primordial race actually meant. Cole and Danny had an avian link—a connection. Not that they could read each other’s’ minds, more like they could feel each other, hear each other, and sometimes in high stress situations, they could feed off each other physically. It didn’t happen often, but now, glancing at Danny, clearly annoyed, lying on the bed, Cole realized this was one of those times. Danny might not have been happy about it, but Cole was.

  “Well?” Danny sat up and leaned forward, staring. “Am I about to transform into the hawk forever or some other nightmarish scenario that has to do with being born cursed as a Primori?”

  ”Cursed?” Cole laughed and pulled on his shoes. “No. You’re not cursed. Gifted, maybe, but not cursed.”

  “Whatever. What is it then? My skin’s crawling all over my throat. Not so comfortable.”

  “I’m surprised you feel it to be honest. I wonder if he knows it’s affecting you, too?” He shrugged and got to his feet, pulling on his jacket. “Doubt it.”

  “Explain. It’s not funny if you think it’s funny.”

  “You’re right. It’s not funny.” Cole reached for the doorknob. “We, apparently, need to run downtown for a minute.”

  “For?”

  “It’s Heru. That flapping of wings on your neck. It’s Heru calling me. He needs to see me. Because of our link, it looks like you felt it, too.”

  Danny was already shaking his head. “You can go. I’m not going. Heru hates me.”

  “He does not hate you.”

  “He does, and you know he does.” Danny still hadn’t stood up.

  “‘K, well, you’re coming. Just don’t say anything while we’re there.”

  “Great. I’m your mute friend now?”

  “Exactly.” Cole grinned.

  Chapter 8

  The little bronze bell chimed as Cole pushed the door to the tattoo shop open. The small, smoky room smelled of sandalwood incense and recently burned wax candles. Glass cases displayed the usual variety of skull and cross bones sew-on patches, Grateful Dead stickers, wooden incense holders, and dust covered shot glasses. Movement behind the wall of hanging beads in the back of the shop caught Cole’s attention. A dark hand pushed the curtain aside, and Heru emerged from the tattoo area, dressed in tan work boots and an old traveling cloak that skimmed the floor.

  He gave a
small smile as he saw Cole, the creases lining the dark skin around his eyes further highlighting his bright blue eyes. The various tattoos of slate blue wings that covered his neck and arms quivered across his skin.

  “Ya answered my call, I see.” The man glanced at Danny. “And ya? Why are ya here?”

  Danny glanced at Cole and back to Heru, not moving away from the front door.

  “Be nice. He’s here because he felt the call, too. Figured I needed to bring him along.” Cole pulled a stool from behind the glass counter and sat down. “Where are you going?” His gaze tracked the man’s traveling cloak.

  Heru eyed Danny with suspicion. “I told ya I didn’t want yar friends hangin’ round my shop. ”

  “I’m not hanging around your shop.” Danny crossed his arms.

  “Ya keep it that way.”

  Danny let out a breath, eyeing Cole.

  “So?” Cole asked. “You rang? I do have a phone, you know. Might save us both some trouble, or me a heart attack when my wings move without my control, by calling the new way.” He grinned.

  “Where did ya inherit that smart mouth? Always have to have a smart remark. Always think ya’re amusin'. Ya’re not.”

  Danny snickered but didn’t move from his position when Heru gave him a deathly glare.

  “Oh, god, just tell me what you want.” Cole leaned against the glass counter, lifting the front stool legs off the ground. “And where you’re going.”

  “Ya break my stuff, and I’m gonna throw yar friend out.”

  Cole shrugged, still leaning on the glass counter. “Throw him out.”

  Heru shook his head. “There’s been talk. Underground.” He eyed Danny. “Whatever ya hear here stays here, understand? My reach runs farther than any on this decaying planet.”

  Danny’s eyes widened momentarily, but he gave a curt, respectful nod.