Demon Bone (The Demons of Oxford Book 1)

by Kara Silver

  She could still taste the pasta and feel its crunchy texture in her mouth as she hurried away five minutes later. Maybe the raspberry jam and the softer sponge would help counterbalance them, she reasoned, cramming the pudding in on her way to the museum. It…didn’t.

  “Note to self. Arriving on time for meals gets you better food and hopefully some company,” she muttered, trying to keep her spirits up. Poor choice of words, Kennedy. The bloody place was spooky enough as it stood without adding anything supernatural like spirits to the mix. Oh, wait, I already did that. Because, hello, demon, and all that? Demon mage, if we’re being technical?

  “Kennedy Smith, reporting for demon mage training, sah!” she announced, clicking her heels and snapping off a smart salute to the ground floor. The empty ground floor. Of course it was. She stuck out her tongue in the general direction of the exhibits and went to check what delights of passive-aggression in written form awaited her in the kitchen. Tonight’s sticky note praised the efforts newcomers were making at fitting in, but felt obliged to point out the museum staff’s ongoing efforts to make sure all comestibles purchased were from ethical sources, whose business practices and supply chain were verified by…

  The writer had had to use a second note to give details of the organisations that could be used to check such matters. Marvelling that their jobs left them time for all that, Kennedy contented herself by adding, Is this sticky note made from recycled, forest-friendly paper? before she made a thermos of hot chocolate and set off on her patrol. She had it down to a fine art by now. Had she really expected Aeth to be there? She kept her ears open for any knock at the door. He couldn’t call her and announce his presence—they hadn’t gotten around to exchanging numbers.

  Wait. He’d said eleven. Would he be there, and if so, what would his “training” consist of? Maybe like a tutorial. In which case, she’d better study. She had to, anyway, and spread out her books and notes in the learning gallery, focussing on her studies. Conscientious of her duties, she made another round later, checking outside too. Not even a gang of disaffected second years to break up the night. It was getting late. She slipped in the side door and paused. No, she couldn’t resist the pull of the exhibition room, and its Demonology exhibition. She read the panels again. Peoples all over the world had feared demons since time immemorial, had cast them out, had castigated and annihilated them and yet—she peered hard into one display case—some had courted them? Huh.

  She didn’t know which was worse. “Oh, yes, I do. Being a demon mage. With powers.” How was anyone supposed to handle knowing that? Handle being that? It was nearing eleven. The pre-witching hour, she supposed. Or maybe eleven was to demons what midnight was to witches? She had no idea. But she knew a man who did.

  “Ask Aeth!” she said as brightly as any TV quiz show hostess. She should make up a theme tune. Dar-der-der-der-dah! She’d have time to devise the show’s entire format, because there was no sign of him on the damn roof. Of fucking course. Cold trickled down Kennedy in a way that had nothing to do with the chill of the October night and everything to do with the atmosphere of the college, her reception and treatment there so far. “This joke?” she called, her voice and throat tight. “It’s not funny. I’m not laughing.”

  The victims of jokes never did, though, did they? Oh, they have put on some forced, teeth-bared smile at the big reveal, knowing the pics snapped would be posted on social media before the explanations were even finished. At least there was no one here, guffawing at her discomfort.

  “Unless you have a hidden camera, boy?” She bent to pat the gargoyle-statue-thing that reminded her of Aeth. “Maybe with a live feed to the common room. Or maybe there’s just a live feed anyway.” What would that be like? “A gargoyle’s-eye view. You know, just the world as you see it.” She peered down. There wasn’t a lot to see. “Not that there is up here either. But watching that could be relaxing. Like in a zoo? People love watching pandas or giraffes. They might like to watch statues. Could be an Oxford version of ASMR. I should develop that, get cameras on all the roofs, get my own YouTube channel?”

  She sat, leaning against the statue as she had before. “I guess a lot has happened since I saw you last. Not stuff like, I was brilliant in the tutorial and the tutor asked me to join a team he’s heading up for a special research project. Or, like, I joined a society and it was good fun and we all went for a curry after the meeting. Or, cute guy asked to study with me and we got talking and went for a coffee and chatted in his room after. In fact, just imagine the opposite of that and you have a pretty good idea. Throw in some frantic cycling and a lame attempt at being a Bond girl and you have the full picture.”

  She traced the grotesque’s profile with her finger, scratching behind its ear as if it was a puppy or a kitten. “Oh, and add to that Aeth being his usual enigmatic self. God, he annoys me with that ‘I’m Kryptic, the cryptic crypt keeper’ act. Makes me want to…do something,” she finished on a mumble, her irritation fizzling out.

  She drew her forefinger along the whorls of the statue’s ear, then smoothed her thumb along its forehead and eyebrow, rubbing her fingers into his…hair? Hair that felt softer and silkier each second, just as the stone felt softer and smoother and warmer and— “Alive! What the hell did I do? Stop!”

  Petrified—the literal reverse of what was happening to the statue, which was becoming more human as she stared—she scrambled away, backwards, almost topping over the edge in her terror. An arm, heavy and weighty, grabbed her, steadying her.

  “Careful.” Aeth, his voice extra gravelly, unused sounding, stood slowly and stiffly on the ledge, stretching. He shook out his limbs and looked her up and down. “So, Kennedy Smith. Ready to begin?”

  16

  “Aeth?” squeaked Kennedy. She fought not to faint. To throw up. To gibber like a monkey. Because every reaction trying to break free would be embarrassing. “Oh, my God, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to… I don’t know what I did, but let me try and reverse it and…” She dropped the fingers-splayed shaking hand she held out, at his grate of laughter.

  “Arrogant, much?” he spluttered. “You don’t seriously think you…” He was guffawing too much to go on, and although she felt fifty shades of stupid, she was glad to see him laughing.

  “Why wouldn’t I think I did something? I don’t have a clue what I can do, or what I’m supposed to do, do I!” Fear, embarrassment, shame—it all rolled into a tight ball and lodged in her chest. “Just like I don’t have a clue what you are!” She poked him in the chest with her forefinger.

  “Hey, cut that out! It hurts.” Aeth batted her hand away. “Don’t do that,” he warned, as she gave him an extra shove-poke for good measure.

  “Or what? What will you do, turn to stone?” Kennedy goaded. “Or simply vanish, in a puff of smoooeeek!”

  She clapped a hand over her mouth rather than squeal again, or even scream. The one thing she was sure of was that she wasn’t going to heave, not the way her muscles had locked in fright at the sight of Aeth sort of disintegrating, crumbling into pieces that got smaller and smaller in size as they fell, to become a sort of ash just as they hit the stone ground under her, then— Nothing. Nothing where he’d stood. No pieces of stone, no ashy cloud—nothing.

  She whipped around, expecting him to have resumed his place jutting out from the corner, into the night, but that spot gaped empty and bare.

  “Here.”

  She twirled again, whiplash-inducing quickly, to find him standing a few feet away, looking perfectly normal. Well, as normal as a statue coming to life, disappearing and the reappearing could. Did. Had. Jesus! Kennedy felt seasick and left her hand clasped over her mouth, just in case.

  “And you do have a clue what I am,” Aeth continued, as if nothing had happened. “You said it, a few days ago.”

  “G—” Kennedy stopped and gave a cough, getting her voice working. “Gar—”

  “No.” He scowled. Pouted, even.

  “Sorry. I know that’s no
t the right word.” Wow, political correctness doesn’t just apply to people. Who knew. “I do know gargoyles have a spout, to make sure rain drains off a roof and doesn’t run down the building’s walls. That’s why they’re carved with a long neck and throat. And the word comes from the same root as ‘gullet’, yeah?” She rubbed her own throat as she spoke. “There’s some on the cathedral back home. Nothing special, but I’ve had a postcard of them for as long as I can remember. Funny, you know, I’ve always wanted to see the ones on Notre-Dame Cathedral, in Paris? But I’ve never been to France. Don’t suppose I will now. Not with Brexit. They’re bound to have restrictions for demons, right?”

  As she’d hoped, a slight smile curved his lips at her rambling. “Just, grotesque sounds, well, grotesque. What exactly is it?”

  “Technically, fantastic.” Aeth preened, and it was her turn to laugh. “A fantastic figure,” he amended.

  “It’s—” She shut herself up. Wouldn’t say his figure was bad-looking. He didn’t deserve compliments, with his arrogance. “Fantastic as in fantasy, mythic? But you’re not.” In stone form, he’d looked, well, more human than beast. More like a statue.

  “I said you had a clue to what I am. In fact, you have more than one.”

  “You said you were a guardian.”

  He nodded, waving his hand in a ‘go on’ gesture.

  “Chimera. Guardian.” She recapped what she knew, feeling her brain limp, like her damaged ankle did. “Ah, right. You’re what’s technically known as a ‘stop quizzing me and just bloody tell me’!” She’d thought the training might be like a tutorial. She hadn’t realised the build-up would be like a question and answer exam.

  “A herm,” he replied, a hint of a sulk in his tone.

  “Right.” Kennedy took out her phone. “And just talk among yourself for a minute while I google that, will you?”

  “Maybe search for herma, plural hermai, the classical Greek form of the word?”

  Kennedy tilted her head. “You don’t look Greek,” she observed, making him sigh, which made her want to grin. “I’d be expecting a toga, in that case. Maybe a laurel wreath?”

  “Hermai originated in Ancient Greece and the Romans spread the practice throughout their empire, which included Britain. Early Greek divinities were originally worshipped in the form of stones or a column of stone. Herma means square or rectangular pillar. Over time, this refined into the idea of the head and shoulders sculpture.”

  “What were they for, Aeth? What?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “What’s that look for?”

  “Nothing. I’m just surprised at how quickly you’re coming on.”

  “Oh. Thanks. Wait, what?” She should have known better than to take anything he said as a compliment.

  “You’re asking halfway intelligent questions.”

  Of course. “Charming as ever. So, what are you for?” she repeated, shoving her hands into her pockets against the cold.

  “Hermai were apotropaic.”

  “Ah, for warding off.” Kennedy nodded sagely, enjoying the flicker of surprise crossing Aeth’s face. She had a good memory for her studies. “There’s a whole display case below us of apotropaic charms and symbols, offering to gods to grant safety and turn away harm and evil. We saw it together, remember?”

  “Indeed. I hoped it might jog you along. Seems I was right.” He preened like a canary looking into a mirror. “So, hermai were traditionally placed at boundaries. Of lands, borders—anywhere there was a crossing from one thing into another.”

  “Oh. Like…” Kennedy pointed at the edge of the building, the solid stone structure and then the nothingness of the air surrounding it. She shivered and remembered her thermos. It must be in her bag still. She found her backpack and sat to pour a plastic cup of hot chocolate, offering it first to Aeth, patting the ground beside her for him to sit. She had to look away at his expression as he sniffed the drink and dabbed a splash onto his lips, then tongue to taste it—his scrunched-up nose made her want to giggle. “Carry on?” she invited him.

  “Well, over time, we assumed the role of de facto protectors, then guardians.”

  “That’s got to be better than just being an apotrope, because that usually becomes just something to rub for good luck, like a buddha’s belly. You’d have more agency, at least?”

  Aeth shrugged, dipping a finger into the empty cup for the last smear of hot chocolate. Kennedy suddenly that while she hadn’t rubbed the statue’s belly, she’d touched it and talked to it, and ducked her head, busying herself with her bag until her face stopped flaming. A thought struck her.

  “Ooooh. Those three.” Kennedy lowered her voice to a whisper and pointed to the other corners of the roof. “Are they…like you?”

  “That’s their business.” His tone was sharp.

  “Look, no offence intended, mate. I’m just trying to get a handle on all this. Unless that’s a non-PC thing to say too?” It sounded sort of suspect.

  “I can really only answer questions about myself.”

  “Feel free. In fact, I wish you would. So, you’ve been doing what?”

  “I’ve been watching you and I tried to keep you from here.”

  “Hang on. Let me unpack that.” Kennedy drew her coat around her. “Or perhaps not, because watching me? Yeah, that’s not really incredibly creepy? Oh, except it is?”

  “Wait. You’re confusing me with those non-question questions,” Aeth protested.

  “And if you tried to keep me from here, it implies I wasn’t here yet. When you were watching me? For how long? And how?”

  “Ah.” Aeth nodded. “I get it now. That first part was sarcasm. Do you find it makes for a good shield? You’ll have to learn others.”

  “I… Don’t change the subject. This isn’t about me.” Kennedy took the cup from Aeth with more force than was necessary and shoved it into her backpack. “Well, actually, it is. Watching me?”

  “You’re very tenacious,” he remarked. “Watching from afar. As in, keeping an eye on?”

  “When I was in Wyebury? That’s miles away! Were you in the Radcliffe Observatory, helping yourself to the telescope?” She hadn’t been yet, but wanted to, being so curious about the usually unseen. The unknown.

  “No. I can use stone.” He patted the roof under him. “All rock is connected in the lithosphere, the planet’s outer shell. It’s how I move, or travel, or communicate. I use it to connect.” He shrugged. “I don’t know if I could put it into words that would make sense to you until you understand a bit about manipulating the geosphere. What you might think of as the elements. Moving through them.”

  “Whoa. I mean, I can swim, but…” Again, she took a look at the empty night air surrounding them. Did he mean flying? Unassisted flight was impossible, wasn’t it? An impossible dream since time immemorial. Just like statues coming to life was impossible. But then, as they said, this is Oxford. “Okay, Mr Cryptic. Show me instead, then.”

  “I have. Earlier and before.”

  “Oh, when you—” Her gesture was intended to convey him disintegrating, crumbling and fading to nothingness, then integrating to solidity again. Was integrating the word? Her spinning, tumbling, free-falling brain didn’t know anymore. Luckily he understood, and nodded, standing up.

  “I’m assigned to you, kind of like a guardian. And like I said, I’ll train you. Get up.”

  Kennedy lumbered to her feet. “How about a plea—Ow! What the hell? Did you just throw a stone at me? Why would you do that, you crazy bastard?” She touched her forehead, her fingers coming away stained darker, with what she presumed to be blood from the cut where the sharp rock had struck her.

  “Ah. I assumed you’d deflect it. Try again?”

  “What?”

  Before she could stop him, he lobbed a second stone, and this one she managed to bat away before it struck her in the face. It hurt her hand instead. “Aeth!”

  “Yes, like that. Well, sort of.” Moonlight glinted on a heavy-looking hunk of rock ready in his
hand

  “Don’t you bloody dare. I’m warning you.” Kennedy advanced. “Where are you even getting these from anyway? Oh, right. Stone and all that.”

  “Turn sideways. It might work that way.”

  “Wh—” She gave in and shuffled to stand side on, facing away, but caught his movement from the corner of her eye, in time to hit out and stop the hurled rock hitting her. “That’s it. You’re just doing this for fun now, only I’m not laughing!” She advanced at speed, hands out and shoved him. Hard. He scrabbled, but couldn’t stop himself slipping, arms flailing, and toppled backwards—from the roof.

  “Aeth!” Kennedy shrieked, scuttling to the edge, to feel so foolish when a second later, instead of an almighty crash and a pile of masonry on the path below, a deep voice behind her said, “Yes?” and she spun to see him sitting there, cross-legged.

  “You have got to stop doing things like that!” Kennedy thumped him to accompany each word of her order. “And that position? Doesn’t look cool, if that’s what you’re thinking. Oh. Hang on. That tric—Thing. Could I do that?” She was already imagining how useful that trick could be. Decomposing—she’d figure out the right verb sooner or later—and recomposing someone else, such as lectures or practicals? She could sleep in and still get to breakfast in good time…

  “Try. Jump off that parapet onto this bit of roof here. Throw yourself at it, and imagine you’re passing through it,” Aeth invited.

  “That doesn’t… Oh, Herma humour. Nice one. You’ll be able to tell your mates you almost pranked me with that one.” Kennedy’s lips twitched. She pulled the hood of her sweatshirt around to wipe the blood off her forehead. “Come on, up. No slacking on the job. Tell me what I’m supposed to do to the rock and how.”

  Aeth eyed her. “Would you believe me if I said it might work better with your hands tied behind your back, so you’re not tempted to used them?”

  “I’m…not even going there.” Kennedy’s face heated, for some reason. She stuck her hands into the pouch pocket of her sweatshirt. “This will have to do. Explain it me like I’m a four-year-old. A four-year-old demon,” she added in a mutter.