Demon Demon Burning Bright, Whisperings book four

by Linda Welch

  He shook his head, hair rippling on his shoulder in a silver-white wave. “I did not message him.”

  “Then - ”

  “I messaged you.”

  My mind went blank. “I don’t understand.” The barrel of my gun angled toward the floor.

  Then I did. My voice grated. “There are these things called invitations. You write on them and mail them out. Or you send an e-mail, or… .” I paused to shoot him a poisonous look. “Or send a text. That text on Royal’s phone was for me. You had him leave it where he knew I’d find it. Why didn’t you contact me? Why make me come here?”

  Hands now clasped at his waist, he came closer. “I know you are confused, Hecate, but all will be made clear.” He smiled. “Come with me to my apartments where we can speak in comfort.”

  I moved back. “Not another step till you tell me where Royal is.” I brought my gun up. “And don’t call me that. My name is Tiff.”

  His lips firmed, then he nodded. “Tiff, then. For now. I do not know where Ryel is.” He waved one hand dismissively. “We planned this meeting, he understands why it must happen this way, but his participation is over. He could be anywhere in Bel-Athaer or the human realm.”

  “Well goody for him. How about you explain why it has to happen this way, and what the hell it is.”

  He dipped his head, hair bunching on his shoulders. “I know this is difficult for you. Please, let us go where we can talk.”

  All this way for nothing. I shook my head. “I’m leaving. Don’t try to stop me.”

  “Tiff, I can tell you everything you want to know. The questions you have asked yourself. Will you walk away from that?”

  Bile seared my gut. I was tricked, duped into coming here. I wanted to storm out, just to show them they couldn’t manipulate me, though I wasn’t sure who they were.

  But maybe it wasn’t all for nothing. I was here and stupidity is not my middle name. I wanted to know how a human man - my uncle? - came to be a Seer in Bel-Athaer. And if he could tell me about my parents… .

  Think, Tiff, think. What evidence do you have he’s your uncle? None, but he sure looked a lot like me.

  I swallowed a hard nodule in my throat. He was human; he didn’t have the speed and strength of Gelpha or Dark Cousin. He’d have a fight on his hands if he tried to keep me here. I’d listen to him, then get the hell out.

  I nodded abruptly.

  He sucked in a small, sharp breath. “What is wrong with your arm?”

  I glanced at my arm. The bandage was still white but for a tiny red dot and my arm barely stung now. “Don’t worry about it. If you want to talk, let’s go.”

  He held out his hand. “Come.”

  He turned and walked away, confident I would follow. His silver-white hair hung halfway down his back to where two blue leather cords cinched it tight; from there it fell to his ankles.

  He went through one of the arches. “I call this the public room. I am told it’s intimidating.” He turned his head to wink at me. “Which is the desired effect. I meet the occasional visitor here.”

  He liked to intimidate visitors? Well, he didn’t intimidate me.

  Okay, so a little.

  He walked slowly, perhaps to let me catch up with him, but I stayed ten paces behind and kept my eyes sharp. Yellow globe lights recessed in the walls six feet apart brightly illuminated a square passageway. I would see anything coming at me.

  We passed several wooden doors. The passage split, going left and right. We turned right. Cicero’s sandals scuffed on the floor, his long hair swayed. An odd little sound made me realize he muttered under his breath. No, he sang a melody to himself, a breezy little tune I didn’t recognize.

  He seemed completely at ease. I felt wired from the tips of my toes to the top of my head.

  We reached four closely spaced doors and stopped at the first. He unlocked and opened it. “My suite.” He stood aside and ushered me in.

  Obviously an office, with a large black desk on a square of worn, faded carpet in the middle of the room, a wood filing cabinet off to the side against the paneled wall. Stacks of papers, books, a small, square container with pens and pencils, a tray holding a coffeepot and a mug covered most of the desk’s surface. Books packed floor-to-ceiling, bookshelves. Pale wood paneling extended into the deep window embrasure in the third wall; unlike those in Cicero’s public room, this window was glazed.

  “Tiff?”

  My stomach lurched; his voice held the same questioning lilt as Royal’s when he spoke my name.

  The room had another door in the left side wall; it stood open and Cicero waited in the room beyond. He moved aside to allow me through.

  It would be a cozy room in winter, when subzero temperatures frosted landscapes on the windowpane and a blazing fire reflected off the dark-gold paneled walls. A pair of brown slippers nosed from under one of the two fat mulberry-colored armchairs either side of the fireplace. A small sofa with a tile-topped coffee-table in front sat beneath the glazed window and a high, narrow table stood kitty-corner across the room. A laptop rested on a footstool. A television perched on a chest of drawers.

  A door in the side wall stood slightly ajar. Cicero had a suite of connecting rooms.

  He sank into one of the chairs beside the fireplace. “Please, be comfortable. I have so much to tell you.”

  I sat facing him, holding the Ruger on my knees. Damn, we were so alike. In appearance, anyway.

  A tap at the door brought me to my feet, gun held with both hands.

  Cicero made a down motion with one hand and smiled reassuringly. “It is my assistant, Thomas.” He lifted his voice. “Enter.”

  A boy wearing a thigh-length green robe bustled into the room. Perhaps fifteen, his silver-white hair hung loose to his waist. He had my pale skin and pale-blue eyes, but a round, sweet face. He carried a silver tray with a pot and two dainty cups, a bowl and tiny jug. I gawped, unable to stop my jaw dropping.

  “No,” Cicero said. “Thomas is not of our immediate family.”

  “But he… .”

  Cicero’s soft tone was meant to calm me. “I know. Patience, my dear.”

  I swallowed, and sat again. Patience is not one of my virtues.

  Thomas put the tray on a small table beside Cicero’s chair, bowed, and busied himself closing heavy drapes over the window.

  “Milk, sugar?”

  I blinked. “What is it?”

  “Tea. Black tea. I think you will enjoy it.”

  “Milk, two sugars.”

  “Supper is almost ready, Sire,” Thomas said.

  “Very good, Thomas. I’m sure Tiff is hungry, as I am.” He nodded at the boy. “That’s all for today. I will clean up. Give your mother my regards.”

  Thomas bowed, gave me a shy smile and scooted from the room.

  “There, we are alone now. Drink your tea, dear one.”

  I took the cup he offered and sipped. He’d added too much milk but the right amount of sugar.

  He plunged right in. “My sister, your mother, was Cassia Bon Moragh, your father Galenus Son Brun. Cassia and I worked together as Seers to the Bon Moragh. Galenus was my strong right-hand.”

  I licked dry, chapped lips. “Was?”

  “Your parents died when you were a year old.”

  I felt as if a fist closed on my heart. I never knew them, they should mean nothing to me, yet… . my mother, Cassia, my father, Galenus. Despite the nagging of my ingrained suspicion, warning me not to believe everything Cicero told me, my blood sang, my bones thrummed. Family. My eyes blurred as I watched the man who called himself my uncle.

  With a pang, I saw myself tucked in one of the deeply upholstered armchairs either side of the fireplace, reading, my toes in the thick-pile carpet, a mug of hot chocolate on the little table next the chair.

  I bit my lower lip. Now was not the time to get mushy.

  “Bon Moragh?”

  “The High House. Son Brun is a close ally.”

  “Why did you call me
Bon Moragh if my father’s name was Son Brun?”

  “We don’t follow the traditions of Earth. Here, the child takes the name of the more influential House.”

  Enthralled, I put my cup on the table and leaned in. “Were you and my mother always Bon Moragh?”

  “Yes, but not of the Court. We came from an altogether lowly family. That changed when our gift manifested. Galenus met Cassia at the High House and followed us when we made our home here.” He smiled as if at a memory. “They were good, those early years.

  “They took you to see your grandparents. They discovered they were pursued. They were near a Way, a portal to the other sphere, so took you through and left you where they hoped you would be safe. They meant to retrieve you, but… .”

  “I thought… .” I swallowed. Goddammit, I was too emotional. “I thought they came from Canada.”

  “Why?”

  “I was found in a dog basket, the blanket was made in Canada.”

  “I know nothing of that.”

  I went to the church years ago. I saw the big bins outside for donations left after hours. I tried to imagine a tall, white-haired woman pulling out a basket, a blanket, to disguise her child and perhaps for a little protection from the elements. But it is all but impossible to imagine a person you have never seen.

  “I was born here, in Bel-Athaer.” I rallied. “Who killed my parents?”

  “Seers from a rival House; rather, their acolytes.”

  “Why? You guys work together, don’t you?”

  His brow creased. “Interesting. How did you reach that conclusion?”

  “I was told when Lawrence was born, every Seer had a vision of the birth. It made me think … I don’t know … you have some kind of network.”

  “If there is a network, it is of spies. I learned of Lawrence’s impending birth and notified the High House, but as I said … spies. Before long, every Seer in the land knew.” His mouth quirked. “I don’t know how the tale of simultaneous visions spread.”

  “You have them, though.”

  “We will speak of that later. First things first.” He smiled. “Hec … Tiff, all will be revealed in due course.

  “Now, where was I? Ah. The Gelpha are an archaic people. Yes, we enjoy the trappings of the modern world.” Cicero’s sweeping hand encompassed the room, the television and laptop. “But we are still a feudal system and obsessed with power. All Houses fall under the dominium of the High House, the High Lord or Lady, but they are rivals beneath the veneer of civility. The restraints came off when the High Lady died. If our young High Lord cannot put the Houses beneath his heel… .” He shook his head; his mouth tightened. “Poor lad, I fear for him. His role is burdensome for one so young, and perilous. Anything could happen.”

  I disliked his hard, cold tone when he spoke of Lawrence. A familiar knot settled in my stomach.

  A tinny ding mingled with the alarm bells chiming in my head.

  “Ah, dinner is ready.” Cicero stood and put his cup on the small table. “Come. Thomas will be most upset if we let the food burn.”

  I followed him through the next door to a small kitchen, old and a bit worn as if used more than the other rooms, with a small stove and refrigerator, sink but no dishwasher. A pale wood china hutch held a few cups and dishes. A table with two matching chairs occupied the middle of the room.

  Cicero took oven gloves off a hook by the stove and bent to open the oven door. I rested my Ruger on my knees as he brought a steaming dish to the table in his mittened hands.

  “I don’t understand. You said your talent manifested - does it come to everyone in our family? How did we end up in Bel-Athaer working for Gelpha in the first place? And Thomas, you said he’s not in our immediate family. Are we related?”

  His mouth twisted in a wry smile. “Our likeness - yours, mine, Thomas’ - confuses you. It is a family trait, but we are a far-flung family. We number in the thousands and all are related, albeit distantly.” He put the dish in the middle of the table and sat in the facing chair. “And no, not all have our ability.”

  Seated opposite me, he opened and closed his mouth as if unsure of what to say. He pulled on his earlobe, looking thoughtful. “Tiff, to explain your heritage, we go far back in time to when the Dark Cousins came to Bel-Athaer. It is a long story and - ”

  “I know about the Mothers, if that’s what you mean.”

  His eyes flared. “How do you know this?”

  I didn’t want to get Gorge in hot water. “I can’t tell you.”

  Piqued, his pale brow furrowed, but smoothed when he smiled. “I will earn your trust. You will tell me one day.”

  Not likely. “What about us? How did we get to be here?” I prompted.

  His gaze turned up to the low ceiling. He pursed his lips, sucked them in, met my eyes. “Niece, do you hate the Gelpha?”

  Hate the Gelpha? What was this leading to? Did I want to know?

  “I see you have considered it.”

  I had, many times. I didn’t trust demons, but I didn’t hate them. All nationalities have their good and their bad and I don’t judge all by the few I meet. Hate is a powerful emotion, ultimately personal. I’ve hated only one person, and had good reason to, in my opinion. I suppose if every member of a single nation committed unspeakable acts with enjoyment, if they were unremittingly evil, I would hate them.

  “I don’t hate them, not as a whole, but I don’t trust Gelpha far enough to throw them. And some are rotten to the core.” Royal’s brother Kien and his clan hunted down and killed little boys in their search for Lawrence. “Sure, a lot of humans are no different, but Gelpha shouldn’t be in my world, not with the power they have over humans if they choose.”

  He nodded. “And Dark Cousins?”

  “I… .” I eyed him narrowly. “They intimidate me. I know they can pretty much do what they want and I can’t stop them. That scares me. And when I think what they did, took humans and bred them as if they were livestock, I…” I looked past him, “… I despise them.”

  My gaze settled on him. “Why do you ask?”

  He shrugged his shoulders slightly. “Curiosity.”

  “Are you going to tell me about us?”

  Another shrug. “You and I, my dear, are the result of an experiment. The Mothers found those who saw apparitions, the spirits of those who died in violence. It interested them. We were another breeding program, but we were allowed to breed pure. We did not lie with Mothers or their progeny, their Gelpha offspring, only with our own kind. On average, one in a hundred can see the dead, but a rare few have the mettle to serve as Seer.”

  A heaviness settled in my stomach. “When did … how long?”

  “We have been here for centuries, my dear.”

  The room was warm, yet a chill slid over me. I tried to wrap my brain around it. So I was right, human beings did live here and had done for a very long time.

  “This comes as a shock to you.”

  I slowly shook my head side to side. “It should. Maybe it will later, when I have time to think.” I always felt different, but so do a lot of kids and teens. I felt like an oddity when I began to see dead people. To learn I came from another society in a different dimension was icing on the cake. “Right now, though, I’m too busy trying to stop my brain going into overload.”

  “If you would like to take a minute.”

  I blinked him back into focus. “No. I’m fine.”

  Not exactly fine, but Cicero’s latest revelation changed nothing, not my past, nor my future. I wasn’t a kid anymore. I’d finally grown into my skin. I knew my place in the world and it was not this world.

  “What does seeing dead people have to do with being a Seer?”

  “Everything, my dear, everything.”

  “Like, give me a clue?”

  His lashes dipped. “You will know soon enough, when your training begins.”

  Training? I made big eyes. “I can’t wait. And what kind of training might that be?”

  “To
emotionally and psychologically prepare you for your role.” His eyes lit up. “But you are already halfway there. You will breeze through.”

  “Why - ?”

  He cut me off. “Patience, dear one. Patience.”

  I huffed through my nose. So much for answering all my questions.

  “Can you tell me why we see dead people?”

  “We don’t know, we can only hypothesize.” He laid his arms flat on the table. “Perhaps it is genetic. We pass the condition to our children, they to their children.”

  “But I was all grown up the first time it happened to me.”

  “As we all are. I wonder if it is a defense mechanism so we are not overwhelmed during our childhood.”

  “Makes sense. But I hadn’t been a kid for a long time.”

  “I also wonder if, when the time is right, we meet a deceased person who somehow resonates with us.”

  I pushed the conundrum aside for now. I had other questions.

  “Did we live here, with you?”

  “Yes.” His gaze softened again. “You were a sweet child. You rolled around on the carpet which now lies beneath your feet.”

  I didn’t remember this place. But when I stood in the valley and didn’t want to go on … did my subconscious warn me? Did baby Tiff see something which frightened her long years ago? And for all Cicero’s tender gaze and nostalgic tone, he didn’t bust a gut to bring his beloved niece home.

  “How long have you known about me?”

  “I found you when you were three. I considered making myself known when your talent rose, but you seemed happy in the human sphere.”

  Happy! I wanted to shriek.

  So my place in his family meant nothing until recently, though he knew I saw dead people. Now, he wanted me. Because I had the mettle to be a Seer? “What changed your mind?”

  “A Seer requires more than raw talent. When you slew Phaid then vanquished the ancient Dark Cousin, then I knew! You are a Seer to the bone.”

  I defended myself. How did that make me Seer material? I didn’t want to be a Seer in Bel-Athaer. I wanted this business over so I could go home. But I knew instinctively I could not tell my uncle that. Not yet.

  Cicero waved at the dish. “I believe this is one of your favorites.”