by Devon Monk
Birds sang. Ocean rolled, wind blew, people went about their happy lives.
I couldn’t wait to get away from it all.
I stepped into the library, and Harold was right there, the only spirit in the room.
“I’ve set out the tea,” he said kindly.
I shut the door behind me, walked forward, and kept walking until I reached him. I wrapped my arms around him, pressed my face against his tenuously solid form, and cried.
I didn’t know how long I stood there, how long ghostly hands gently patted my back, ghostly voice gently crooned and hushed and hummed. But finally, I drew myself away, standing fully on my own and wiped my sleeves over my eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
“We’ll have none of that. Apologies.” He tutted, then put his arm behind my back, and guided me up and up to the little tea room.
I went quietly, still trying to get my breathing under control as I sniffed. New tears were falling, but I couldn’t even feel them anymore.
“There now,” he said. “Comfortable?”
I nodded, then burrowed into the comfy couch, pulling the quilt my grandmother had made up over me, adjusting pillows so I could turn my face into the back of the couch.
I wanted the world to go away, just for a minute. Just for an hour.
Light footsteps climbed the stairs. The soft clink of china chimed. Then there was a thunk and the shuffle of a tea tray being settled on the oversized ottoman.
“Myra, dearest. I’ve brought you tea,” Harold said.
“I don’t want tea.” My words were muffled and stuttered between my sniffing and choppy breathing.
“Now, now. You’ll feel better.”
He was probably right. I needed to blow my nose anyway. So I sat up, drawing the quilt with me.
“Tissue?” Harold offered the extra large, extra soft box I’d brought with me. He was putting a lot of energy into being solid, but I knew he, of all the tome spirits, was the most experienced at it. The library supplied the magic, he supplied the intent.
He wiggled the tissue box making the plume of paper wave like a pink feather in a fancy hat.
I plucked out three tissues, blew, plucked out some more, wiped my face, more tissues, wiped my eyes, and finally settled back.
“Thanks.” I pulled a few more tissues, and settled the box in my lap. “I don’t know why I’m crying.” I mopped at the new tears tracking over my cheeks.
“I do.” He handed me the tea. My favorite cup, a delicate soft green with honeysuckle blooms painted across it. I took a sip. Oolong. My favorite.
Harold lifted his own cup—he preferred a strong English Breakfast—and blew across the top.
We sat there, each enjoying tea and silence. It was how we always started these visits, allowing the quiet and tea to soothe and settle. I needed it more than ever today.
“Shall I tell you now?” he asked.
“Tell me what?”
“Why you are crying.”
I took another sip of tea. “Okay. Hit me. Why am I crying?”
“Your heart is broken.”
He said it calmly, matter-of-fact. Like this was something one commonly diagnosed when one was a very old spirit of a very old book.
I pulled my feet up so I sat cross-legged. “I just forced my not-boyfriend-demon-enemy to kill himself with a pair of scissors. So. That happened.”
“Are you sure?”
“That he stabbed himself? Yes.”
“Are you sure he was not your boyfriend?”
I sniffed and stared at the tea. “I wish he weren’t.”
“Why would you wish that, my dear?”
“Would be nice to skip the heartbreak.” I rubbed at my eyes. “Why did I do this? I know better. It never works out for me. Love isn’t made for me. And a demon? What was I even thinking? I didn’t want to fall in love. I tried really hard not to.”
I sat there feeling miserable while Harold sipped tea. Finally, he set his cup down and clasped his hands in his lap.
Harold concentrated for a moment, then leaned forward with Dad’s last journal in his hand. Nice trick, plucking it off of a random shelf in the library.
“I know you don’t want to read it yet, and I trust your instincts. But there is one entry I’ve marked with a ribbon, I feel might help you.”
I took the book, the weight of it familiar in my hands. All of Dad’s journals were about the same size and had the same bindings. But more than the physicality of the book, it somehow still carried some of Dad’s energy. I knew, as soon as I saw his handwriting, that I would be reading every word in his voice.
“I don’t think I’m ready.”
“Well, then. Let me find some cookies for this tea. And maybe a new read? We have some delightful additions I’d like you to meet.”
“Just the tea, I think. Thank you, Harold.”
He patted my hand, then settled back in the chair and positioned his cup in his left hand, like he always did.
I finished my tea, the silence of the room, the soft sigh and shuffle of the books all around me the only conversation I needed.
I didn’t mean to fall asleep, but I had been awake for over twenty-four hours and it had been a hell of a day.
Harold moved Dad’s journal out of my hands. I would have helped, but my eyes were too heavy to open, my limbs impossible to move. He pressed his hand gently on my shoulder before the soft light clicked off, and all the spirits of words and thoughts and long-forgotten histories sighed and swayed into dreams.
Chapter 26
“A broken-down teapot. Really?” Xtelle pushed the offending vessel off to one side and sat down at the table across from me.
We were at the Blue Owl, the only twenty-four hour restaurant in town. I’d stopped by for lunch and was waiting on my soup and salad. Instead I got a demon.
“You can’t be here,” I said.
“True.” She smiled, and her eyes twinkled. “Can you guess how I am?”
I couldn’t smell the tea in my cup, nor the pies and bread the Blue Owl always baked fresh every day. The sound of people around us was unnaturally muted and the music playing over the system was wind chimes instead of country and rock.
“I’m dreaming.”
“Bravo.” She sat back. “You do catch on quickly, don’t you?”
“Apparently not. I thought you were a unicorn for days.”
She laughed, a full-body thing, with her head tipped back. It was a wholly delighted sound, and I found I couldn’t be angry with her.
This was a dream after all. There wasn’t anything she could do to me here, and there wasn’t anything I could do to her. It was the most neutral ground between a human and a demon.
“That was so much fun! The look on Bathin’s face when he first saw me.” She chuckled again and wiped fingertips under her eyes. “I would have paid a much higher price for that alone.”
“What do you want, Xtelle?”
“I’m not here to make things worse.” The laughter was gone and she was as sincere as I’d ever seen her.
“Of course not,” I said.
One eyebrow rose. Apparently my sarcasm had not been missed.
“You asked me why I made the scissors. I didn’t tell you the whole story.”
“What? A demon lying? This is so shocking.”
“Don’t be tedious, Myra. You are the Reed best at finding information and using it. I am bringing you information. Since you are also the Reed who is always in the right place at the right time, then may I suggest you trust your own abilities and believe that being here, in this dream, listening to me give you information that no other creature knows, is in your best interest?”
“Excuse me for not trusting a demon.”
“You’re excused.” She held up one finger. “You understand that when a demon possesses a soul, it is vital we keep that soul.”
“So you can torture and feed off of it.”
“Don’t be ugly, darling. But yes. So we can draw from it that
which we desire. Not every soul is the same. Really, no two souls are the same. And some souls will never catch a demon’s interest. Others do.”
“Why?”
She shrugged gracefully. “Which souls we want is a very personal thing for demons. A vulnerable thing. I would no sooner share those details with you than you would explain to me exactly how to best manipulate your sisters. But what I came here to talk to you about is my son.”
“Is he—” I stopped before I asked what I really wanted to know. “Is he behind you being here? Doing this? Talking to me?”
“No. Bathin has no say in what I do or don’t do. You should know that.”
I did know that. So I nodded.
“Is he here?” Demons could take any shape, even in dreams.
She drew her fingers back through her long, luxurious dark hair. “No. I haven’t spoken to him since he used the scissors to free your sister’s soul.”
“You knew about that?”
“I made the scissors. I know if they have been used. Do you know why I made them?”
“So his enemies could cut a soul away from his control.”
“Well, yes, that’s what I told him. But that isn’t the truth.”
I picked up my dream tea and took a dream drink. It was the perfect strength and heat and I savored it.
I sighed. “This is where you tell me you were lying all along and now you’re going to tell me the real truth, honest this time, and I should trust you, right?”
“You don’t have to trust me. I’d be surprised if you did. You aren’t like that, Myra. Your heart is not made so softly. But your mind is logical and clear. Which is why I know you know I’m telling you the truth.
“I made those scissors as a test. A proof. Bathin knew they would do great damage to the one who used them. But the truth is they would not have worked for anyone but him.”
“Because he’s a demon,” I said.
“No. Listen to me. Only his own hand could use those scissors to remove the soul he had possessed. Only his hand.”
“But you said…” At her look, I nodded. “Lies. Got it.”
“I made the scissors to know one thing: If my son would ever value someone, something over his own wants. Whether he could be unselfish.”
There in the dream diner, the wind chimes turned to music, something soft and far away.
“That’s not the truth,” I whispered.
She reached across the table and placed her hand carefully on my wrist. It was warm, solid, real.
“It is the truth. I give you my word on that. A demon never gives up a soul without receiving something greater in return. Bathin could have given up Delaney’s soul at any time he wished. Except there was nothing valuable enough to exchange it with. He wanted to stay in Ordinary. He needed to stay in Ordinary. His life depended on it.
“But when the choice was allowing you to use the scissors, knowing it would harm you, change you, hurt you, he took them away. He used them instead.
“He freed Delaney’s soul by his own hand and bore the consequences, not knowing how brutal they might be.”
“He didn’t do it to protect me…”
“Yes. He did.” She waited a moment, then went on. “One might even assume he did it because he loves you. He willingly sacrificed his own needs, comfort, desires, and life to save yours.”
“He can’t love me. He’s a demon.”
“It is not hard for a demon to love. You might not understand that, but we love easily. It is, however, difficult for us to learn how to care for someone, how to give to someone before we satisfy our own wants.”
She drew her hand away. “Sharing and compromise and honesty are difficult concepts for a demon, but not impossible. Still, the only things that can teach us those concepts are sacrifice and community and love.”
“Family,” I said.
“That too. It is, I think, why he was so curious about Ordinary for so long. Why he and your father met and spoke for so many years. Bathin was looking for family. When he finally found a way to enter Ordinary, when he found you…well.
“He was totally out of his depth, so he acted like an asshole.” She straightened the cuff of her sleek blouse, which did not need straightening. “Typical demon. Assholery is the number one go-to.”
“You don’t say,” I said.
That earned me an eyebrow quirk. “So what are you going to do about this?”
“About what?”
“I just told you my son loves you.”
“I heard you.” Even though this was a dream, I believed her.
That didn’t mean I knew what to do about it.
“Now you know,” she said. “I thought that was important. Even now.”
She sipped out of her cup. I wasn’t sure what was in there, but it squirmed and squeaked.
I knew she was baiting me, but curiosity won out. “Even now?”
“I made those scissors as more than one kind of test. To see if he could learn sacrifice, selflessness, love.” She blew on her squeaky liquid, sipped again.
“And?”
“And if he could endure the price it demanded.”
“What price? Where is he? Is he hurt? Angry? Do we need to brace for an attack?”
She chuckled. “Any chance to ignore your own feelings, you take it, don’t you? Not a single second admitting you’re worried for him. Instead you jump to the conclusion that you must protect Ordinary from him. Maybe I should have designed a pair of scissors to determine your worth.”
“Harsh.”
“It’s not Ordinary you’re trying to protect. It’s your heart.”
Here, in this dream, I didn’t have the energy to argue that truth.
“I am very curious as to which truth you will follow—love or fear.” She lifted her hand to get the waitress’s attention. “Humans are so easily misled by both.” She snapped her fingers.
I woke with a jerk. The old wooden beams of the library tea room came into focus at the same moment the scent of warm cookies reached me.
I was still on the couch, covered with the quilt. A little stiff, which meant I’d slept for hours. I wondered why Jean or Delaney hadn’t called, but remembered Delaney and I were taking the night and day off, and Jean wouldn’t bother us unless there was an emergency.
Harold still sat in the chair, reading a large leather-bound book. I had the feeling it was way past morning. My stomach rumbled.
“I warmed the cookies,” Harold said. “And brewed fresh tea.”
I sat, stretched, and rubbed my eyes. “Tea sounds great.”
He put the cup in my reach, the saucer holding two little chocolate-dipped raspberry sugar cookies. I’d picked them up from Hogan’s bakery the other day and stashed them here, partly to keep them out of Shoe’s reach, and partly because I liked a little cookie fortitude when I did research.
Harold knew how to use a mean microwave.
I ate the cookies and finished the tea, thinking over my dream which was not a dream.
“How much would you believe a demon who says she’s telling the truth?”
“That would depend on the demon, the subject, and the situation. Why do you ask?”
I went over my dream. He didn’t ask questions, but made encouraging sounds as I related everything I could remember.
“Would you believe her?” I asked.
“This is a bit beside the question, isn’t it? Let’s take it in steps. Do you believe her?”
“I shouldn’t.”
He hmmmed.
“I think I do. But that could just be wanting to believe her. Wanting this lie out of all the others to be true.”
“We know he took the scissors from you and used them to free Delaney’s soul.”
“Yes.”
“We know that in doing so he closed the vortex to the Underworld.”
“Yes.” It would be hard for that to have been a trick. I’d been there, and even if my heart or mind wanted to misinterpret the events, I’d seen it with my
own eyes.
“He is no longer in Ordinary.”
“Yes. Dragon pig confirmed. But is that enough to trust everything she said?”
“It wouldn’t seem so. Your father did meet with Bathin when he was alive.”
“That’s true?”
He nodded and pointed with his cup. “It’s in the journal.”
“How long did they meet?”
He tipped his eyes to the ceiling. I knew he was accessing the collective data of all the books and works in the library. Which meant he was checking the facts in Dad’s journals too. “I’d say two years at least.”
“Did they meet here?” That didn’t make sense. Demons wouldn’t have been invited into Ordinary unless they signed the contract and vowed to follow the rules. “No, it couldn’t be. Somewhere else? Outside of Ordinary?”
“Yes. He discussed it with me on several occasions.”
“And…what did he think about Bathin? What did they talk about?”
“He thought highly of him. Why the surprised look? Your father was a very good judge of character. He had to be since he was the bridge before Delaney.”
“He liked Bathin?”
“I believe he did. He thought Bathin was following a path most of his kind never attempt. To truly understand humans and souls in a way alien to him. To understand emotions and caring and love.”
“Dad said all that?” My words came out stilted. My fingers were stiff from holding my cup too hard.
It was a lot to take in. That Bathin had done more than steal my Dad’s soul. That maybe it had been part of their agreement, him keeping Dad’s soul from passing into death.
That maybe Bathin didn’t have all the manners and norms of being human figured out, but that he’d been trying to do so for years.
“Why wouldn’t Dad tell me any of this?” I asked.
Harold pressed a finger to his lips. “I can only guess, of course. He hoped Bathin would come to an understanding of the human world. He wanted him to understand why there was a contract he must sign to enter Ordinary, and why he must follow the laws and rules while here.”
“But he wasn’t going to tell any of us a demon wanted to live in Ordinary?”
