Demon Demon Burning Bright, Whisperings book four

by Linda Welch

  I pressed my palm to the wall, then the door. Odd. Why a wall and door made of lead? Molding and putting them in place had taken some doing.

  I smiled. Lock picks, flashlight, a standard lock, no problem.

  I had to work at the door, but at least Cicero used old-fashioned locks in his home, not keypads. I don’t know how to bypass a keypad, although Royal does.

  I pulled the door shut behind me but didn’t lock it. I stood in a tunnel of unevenly hewn gray rock walls; an arched ceiling curved above my head. The absolute silence and cool, dry, stale air made me think of old bones lying quietly in their grave. The drop in temperature brought on a shiver.

  I walked on. The tunnel bore to the left and took me to a door of metal bars. I folded my fingers around two of the bars and pressed my face to them. Globes on the ceiling gave out a muted glow, barely enough light to lift the darkness. The wall appeared to change farther along; I saw a dull, metallic sheen.

  I scratched my head. What the hell?

  The lock was clean and well-oiled; it came open without protest.

  I stared along the tunnel’s length. The walls did change, to thick, dull metal bars. I stopped at the first bar and looked into a cell of bars on three sides, the rock wall in back making the fourth. The first in a row of adjacent cells, it was clean, bare of any furnishings and empty. An amber globe high on the back wall hardly penetrated the gloom. Hands on the bars, I half turned to see over my shoulder. This cell mirrored one on the opposite side of the tunnel and likely those beyond.

  I went on. The floor seemed to absorb all but the slightest sluff of my boots heels. I passed the next empty cell, and reached one with an occupant.

  At first, I didn’t understand what I saw, until I pressed the button on my flashlight and directed the beam through the bars. It picked out the glitter of metallic hair.

  The woman sat with her back to the stone wall, knees drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped around them. My light sheened over long violet hair which sparkled like a fairy’s wings. She brought her hands up quickly as my flashlight dazzled her. I turned the beam up so it shone above her head. It still caught the glimmer of her hair.

  I squatted, glanced back at the gate to make sure I had not been discovered, then back at the woman. She kept her hands cupped over her face, covering eyes, nose and mouth. Pale skin with a hint of color on face and hands. Eyes sparkled between her fingers.

  “Hello,” I whispered.

  She didn’t move.

  “Can you hear me? My name is Tiff. Who are you, why are you here?”

  She lowered her chin to her knees.

  “Please, talk to me.”

  She shuffled to face the wall.

  This woman was a prisoner. I fingered my lock picks. I could let her out, but I’d have to shoot her if she attacked me.

  I stood slowly, knees creaking. More cells ahead on both sides. I turned to face the one behind me and saw movement.

  Watching me, a male demon stood with his back pressed to the wall. I scuttled over there.

  He shaded his eyes with his palm when my light fanned over him. The glow reflected the glint of his eyes and scintillating strands of hair, copper and gold. My heart leaped in my throat. “Royal?”

  My heart slammed back into my chest. He was too lean to be Royal.

  He, too, turned his back on me.

  Then I got it. They took me for a Seer.

  My voice sounded like a plea. “I’m a stranger; I’m not part of whatever’s going on here. You can talk to me. Who are you? Why are you here?”

  Useless. He would not turn to face me.

  I sighed audibly and went on. The cell next his was empty. An elderly woman squatted in the opposite cell. Altogether I passed fourteen cells, seven on each side. Five were occupied. Five Gelpha who refused to acknowledge my existence.

  Perturbed and not a little annoyed, I walked on.

  The passage split. I went right, but decided to head back if it split again. That’s all I needed, to get lost.

  A huge wood gate blocked the passage.

  Weariness dragged me down. I needed rest, and maybe Cicero rose from his bed early. I had another day before Gia’s deadline and I meant to make the most of it. Maybe I could go through Cicero’s office and sneak a peek at his laptop. I’d come back here tomorrow night.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  A tall, gangling boy, all arms and legs, chubby cheeks and shy smile, Thomas ducked his head as he took my plate.

  “Thank you, Thomas. Delicious. You are becoming quite the chef,” my uncle told him.

  “Thank you, Sire.” Thomas lifted his head briefly to flash a smile. “The culinary books you brought are excellent.”

  Mexican today. Chicken enchiladas in green chili sauce with sour cream and diced green onions. Cicero had watched me while I ate in my kitchen; he knew my favorite foods.

  It didn’t taste the same. No doubt the basic ingredients available in Bel-Athaer differed from those on Earth. It was still good. Pity I didn’t have an appetite.

  The day about murdered my patience. I couldn’t let my uncle know I found the Gelpha captives and putting on a bright face made my facial muscles ache.

  Cicero attended to business after breakfast, so I was alone all morning. But when I opened his office door, Thomas had the laptop on his knees. He looked up with an inquiring smile.

  I grinned back. “Just wandering, getting my bearings.”

  Damn and hell. I didn’t dare prowl the passageways with Thomas nearby.

  Cicero and I went to the village in the afternoon. It was a pleasant place, a little haven in the middle of barren scarps. We walked among slim trees with fresh green leaves. Pale grass on the outskirts reached my shins, whispering over my jeans like soft feathers. Metal rang on metal in the distance. Though I wasn’t hungry, the aroma of freshly baked bread made my mouth water. Two larger one-level structures nearer the mountainside would be the dormitories. A few small, sturdy buildings sat beneath the trees. A cow lowed from inside a big barn. A rooster led eight hens across our path; he paused to ruffle his wings and squawk at us menacingly.

  Cicero introduced me to his people, who came from the houses, and dormitories, the mill, workshops and whatever; perhaps two hundred men, women, youths and children. Some of those from the dormitories wore black, Ninja outfits minus hoods. Adult men and women were tall – I’d say between six-two and six-six - and all had silver-white hair and pale-blue eyes. They wore their pale hair in various lengths and styles. None looked like me and Cicero.

  They couldn’t have been more obsequious. You don’t act that way for love of someone, you do it from fear.

  “Am I related to any of them,” I asked as we climbed the terraces back up to the cave mouth.

  “Distantly, as we all are. Regretfully, we are the last of our line.” Cicero patted my shoulder. “We’ll find a husband for you one day in the future. Perhaps you will bring more Seers into our family.”

  I couldn’t believe he said that.

  “They are from families allied to the High House. By tradition, they serve the Seer for five years, but many stay longer. Two here were aspirants.”

  “Ones who didn’t make the cut?”

  “Precisely.”

  I often shifted my gaze to the mountainside, but saw no indication Gia and Chris lurked up there. If they were here, they hid themselves well.

  Now we sat at the table in the kitchen again. Thomas put small glass dishes in front of us. “Sorbet,” he announced.

  I spooned up the icy pink concoction, letting it melt in my mouth before it trickled down my throat. “Wonderful, Thomas.”

  Cicero stood, letting his napkin fall on the table. “I must return to my business of this morning. I’m sorry to leave you alone so much, but this was unexpected.”

  “That’s okay, Unc.” I swung my gaze to the sink. “I’ll help Thomas with the dishes then go… . Is it okay if I take a wander?”

  His expression momentarily tightened. ”You may
, but some areas are unsafe and others … you would do well to avoid until your training begins. You’ll know when you come upon them.”

  I would not be here for any training. I had to meet Gia’s deadline. I needed her to get me to the High House, or at least near it, as she couldn’t show herself there. Proof or not, I determined someone would listen to me. I would be gone tomorrow.

  The evening seemed interminable. Over hot tea and cookies, Cicero gave me a lesson on Gelpha politics, which seemed to be about who could gain what by betraying whom. He spoke of my parents and grandparents, but the telling was … clinical, a recitation of names and places. I wanted to know whether they wanted me, loved me; if my mother rocked me to sleep in her arms at night. But I couldn’t ask.

  Finally, he said goodnight and retired to his room. I sat on the bed for an hour. Despair unexpectedly made me sag. I learned so much, but not Royal’s whereabouts.

  I listened at Cicero’s door before following the corridor.

  Along the passage, through the door, the gate, I moved quickly down the tunnel, whispering to the men and women behind bars. They stood with their backs to me, shadows draping them. “Hello. It’s me again. Have you seen a tall man with copper-gold hair? His name is Royal. Ryel Morté Tescién.”

  Spiders walked up my spine. My gut told me these people were illegally imprisoned, but I couldn’t risk freeing them.

  I wanted to shout at them, I mean you no harm, I am not a Seer! I left them reluctantly. If only they would talk to me.

  The tunnel split again. How far did these tunnels go inside the mountain? Ample space to hide many secrets. The more I could unfold, the more I took to the High House. One thing, give me one solid piece of evidence.

  Tension made my breath rasp. Had Cicero hidden Royal in the depths of the mountain?

  Arriving at more wood doors, I pressed my ear to the first and heard nothing, but my nose detected a familiar odor.

  The stink of decaying blood.

  Images flashed through my mind: Royal’s body splayed on a hard rock floor. My hand trembled as I worked on the lock. I dropped the pick twice. I pushed open the door and entered a short passage, and saw another gate of metal bars.

  The room beyond was twelve by twelve at a guess. The fetor assaulted my nasal passages. A small round hole in one gore-stained wall let in a pittance of light. Old blood on the floor too, so much and so thick it formed ridges around a grate. A man hung in chains from the ceiling by his wrists, his feet inches off the floor. Long gray hair laced with jet hung in tangled, sweaty hanks. He wore a … well, I suppose it was underwear; it looked like a pouch on two pieces of string.

  “Kill me and get it over with. I can’t hang about here all day,” he croaked, followed by a light laugh.

  “Chris?”

  “Tiff, is it you, my Sweet?”

  “How did you get here?” I asked his crotch.

  It twitched. My gaze shot up to find his eyes on me.

  “The lengths to which I go, to bring that beautiful blush to your skin.” His attempt at a smile became a wince.

  I squatted to work on the lock.

  “I feared for you and I’ve never seen a Seer, so I boldly marched in and demanded to see you. The man was charming.”

  “I bet,” I grunted as I fought the lock’s mechanism.

  “I believe he was quite taken with me.”

  “So taken with you, he locked you away nice and safe.”

  A heavy sigh. “His men caught me with my pants down.”

  “Really.”

  “Yes, really. I was doing the necessary behind a rock when they came on me.”

  I had to press my lips together real tight. “Where was Gia?”

  “Hiding.”

  Naturally. Don’t tell me she couldn’t whip out and put the whammy on Cicero’s men like she did the hostel manager.

  The tumblers cooperated. I came upright and pushed the door open. The room was empty but for Chris and a convenient chair. Tucking my lock picks in a back pocket, I made a face as I entered the room. I’ve walked in blood before. Believe me, it is not a pleasant experience and hell to get out the soles of your boots.

  “You hesitate while I dangle?”

  My gaze swept to where it should not. Dangle was not the word I’d choose.

  Blood crumbled under my soles. Crime scene footies would have been nice. I lifted the chair by the back, took it to where Chris hung and positioned it on his right side. When I climbed on the chair and stretched to reach his wrist, we were a hairsbreadth away.

  His scent washed over me, citrus and ginger with a hint of sweat and male musk.

  Tongue protruding, up on my toes, I attacked the manacle. When it clicked open he dropped with a yelp to hang from one wrist, but he swung the other arm around my neck and managed to plant one foot on the chair.

  His musculature, beneath silken skin, felt hard as granite. Silver-gray eyes gone languid gazed into mine; glassy hematite pupils pierced me. He licked his lips, long tongue slowly sweeping top and bottom.

  I rolled my eyes. “You never give up, do you.”

  “I’ve never met such resistance. You are an enigma, Sweetling.”

  “Nope. A gal who knows a conman when she meets one. You wouldn’t be interested in me were I interested in you.”

  I climbed off the chair and looked up at the manacle as I chew my thumbnail. This would take some maneuvering.

  Chris had to hop up and down to keep his feet on the chair as I nudged it to his other side. I climbed on the chair and again we were closer than friendly acquaintances should be. Unlocking the manacles as his body pressed against me put obstacles in my proximity, tempting me to put my knee in his proximity.

  But we made it to the floor and I helped him stagger from the room, clutching him around the chest as he clasped my shoulders.

  We rested against the wall. “You can let go now,” I suggested.

  “I don’t know how to show my appreciation, but give me time, I’ll think of a way.”

  “I was looking for Royal.” An idea snapped into place. “You came up!”

  “Not quite.” He looked sidelong at me. “But I’m sure with a modicum of encouragement… .”

  “Asshole. I meant, Cicero said unexpected business came up. You were it.”

  His teeth flashed white. “How inconvenient of me.”

  “What happened to your clothes?”

  “The intent is to demoralize. Take a man’s clothes, he feels less of a man. Perhaps it has that effect on those who already lack confidence in their masculinity but I, on the other hand - ”

  Ducking from beneath his arm, I accidentally elbowed him in the ribs, nipping that conversation in the bud before it evolved into an oration of his manliness. “Let’s go. I’m not through yet, but I’ll show you the way outside. And we gotta be quiet when we get near my uncles apartment. If he sees us he’ll - ”

  “Your uncle?”

  “Cicero.”

  “That explains a lot!” he exclaimed as he walked through the outer door.

  I tapped the sides of my boots on the wall. Ugly black flakes fluttered from my soles to the floor. “Does, doesn’t it.” I scowled. “Pity nobody told me earlier.”

  But he was no longer with me. I turned, and saw him a few paces down the tunnel. “Hey, you’re going the wrong way.”

  He wiped his brow with the back of his wrist. “Cicero held me in a cell down here when they brought me in. When his men moved me to this delightful haven, we passed a door. You and I should take a look.”

  Anxious to keep moving, I jigged up and down on the balls of my feet. “There are a lot of doors here. Come on, Plowman!”

  “Cicero came out with a tray as I was dragged past. He was smiling. For a moment, when the door was open, I felt… .” He jerked his head. “This way.”

  He walked away. I noticed his stint hanging from the ceiling had not impaired his fluid grace, and from the rear he appeared to be stark naked apart from a string around his wais
t. Men should not have buttocks that tight. Or calves.

  I splayed my hand on the door’s surface. “Why lead?”

  Chris stood back. “We can’t sense one another with lead between us. Petitioners do come to Cicero. He wouldn’t want it known he has Gelpha under lock and key. I think he has an important guest in here, one he tends to personally.”

  “Royal.” There went my heart again, pounding too fast.

  “Only one way to find out.”

  The key must be large; the mechanism was big, and my lock picks were designed for smaller, modern locks. Sweat sheened my upper lip as the mechanism clicked.

  Chris pushed the door open and we found ourselves in a lead-lined room, with another lead door ahead. Doors behind doors were all the rage here. I went to work on the lock. Chris stood behind me.

  I climbed to my feet. I barely heard Chris say, “A kiss for luck?”

  Not on your life, bud. I shoved the door open, so eager I could hardly breathe.

  Disappointment made me step back into Chris.

  A small round window in the lead wall provided ventilation, and candles on a battered desk and bureau gave off light which flickered in the draft caused by the door opening. Blankets heaped a single bed with metal head-and footboard. Small, the room held the bed, desk and bureau with space to walk between them. A cloth draped what looked like an old-fashioned commode in the corner. A tall demon wearing a tan ankle-length robe and dark-brown sleeveless over robe sat at the desk as he wrote on a sheet of cream paper, long deep-chestnut hair curtaining his face.

  “Twice in one day?” the man said, voice laden with ennui. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “Sire!” Chris said, and fell to his knees.

  Huh? I never imagined the day when anything made Chris Plowman do that.

  The man brought his head up and pushed his hair from his face with one hand. He frowned at Chris. “Who are you?”

  Chris kept his head bowed. “Your humble servant, Sire.”