Demon Demon Burning Bright, Whisperings book four

by Linda Welch

  He put his pen on the desk. “Indeed, yet you come here with her?”

  The rancor in his voice had such weight, the blood left my face.

  He rose and paced two menacing steps toward me. Bronze eyes shadowed by heavy brows regarded me coldly. “Get out. Take your man and go.”

  Chris’ voice rose. “My Lord, you do us an injustice. We are here to liberate you.”

  “You hold your tongue. Do you think me so naïve I would trust a Seer?”

  No wonder he hated me at first sight.

  “A… .” Chris’ gaze shot to my face. “You can’t be a Seer. Seers are not half-bloods.”

  “It’s a long story and we don’t have time. I’ll explain later.”

  Another pace and the man intruded in my personal space. “You are either very brave or very foolish. I know you have no true power.”

  He knew that about Seers? I brought my hand from my pocket. “No, but I have this.”

  “A little gun.”

  “This little gun is a double action Derringer. It carries two thirty-eights and I only need one to take you down.”

  His face twisted in a silent snarl, but he stayed put.

  Chris had not got past the guy’s earlier statement. “Seers don’t have power? That’s ridiculous. We’ve relied on their power for centuries.”

  “Yeah, and that’s the problem.” Carefully watching the tall, threatening figure, I toed Chris’ hip. “Gonna tell me who this is?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Then why are you groveling?”

  A trace of the man I knew blossomed in his eyes. “I don’t grovel, my Sweet. I pay homage.” He tipped his head up to regard the towering demon. “You are too young to be Lawrence’s grandsire.”

  The demon drew himself up. I was wired to the max, so maybe imagination made me think an air of authority wrapped him like a cloak. “I am Gryphon.”

  “Holy shit,” I said to the High Lord of Bel-Athaer.

  Chris flowed to his feet. “My Lord, you’re making a mistake. If Tiff says she’s no Seer, she is not.”

  “Pah! You think to deceive me?”

  I blew out a frustrated breath. “Enough! I’ve lived my entire life on Earth. I discovered I’m Cicero’s niece yesterday. He tricked me into coming here. I am not a Seer and never will be. I’m looking for my partner, Royal … I mean Ryel Morté Tescién. Your son Lawrence is in danger. Now will you listen or do I walk out and lock the door behind me?”

  I saw him trying to process, but all he came up with was, “House Morté Tescién is my enemy.”

  “Royal left there to work for the High House a long time ago. He’s loyal to Lawrence,” I said.

  “My Lord, you must listen!” Chris tried.

  Gryphon sneered, his dark eyes glittering. “You disgust me, consorting with - ”

  Chris lost it. “Of all the pig headed… .” His voice dropped to a slow drawl. “How long have you moldered away in here? Obviously your brain has atrophied, old boy. We’re trying to save your arse. And your son’s. Your son is in danger. Do you know you have a son? Do you care?”

  Gryphon’s shoulders dropped. “Yes, I know my son is in danger.”

  We’d been here too long. “Chris, we’re going.”

  “We can’t leave him here.”

  “We can’t force him to come with us either.”

  I lowered the gun and eased it in my hip pocket. Then I raised my hands to shoulder height. “We’ll leave the door open. If you want to stay, that’s your choice. Come on, Plowman.”

  I backed out. Chris’ eyes flicked from me to his High Lord. Then he shrugged and came after me.

  Gryphon watched us. I could see he had second thoughts from the way his eyes darkened, reflecting an inner turmoil. I didn’t blame him for not trusting us.

  He followed us out.

  Chris and I pushed the door closed. I knelt to relock it with my picks. Gryphon watched, stance alert, doubtless poised to run. A large, powerful demon stood behind me, and that made me edgy. I doubted Chris could subdue him if he attacked us.

  A few seconds to untie the small metal toggle from my hoodie. I pushed it inside the big lock and used a pick to work it down. The mechanism would jam when Cicero tried to open the door. If we managed to escape without detection, the Seer would not know Gryphon was gone till he got inside the cell. It bought us a little time.

  “How do you know Lawrence is in danger?” Chris asked as we crept through the outer door and he shut it.

  “Cicero told me his plans for Lawrence and delighted in the telling. At times, I think he keeps me alive only to torment me.”

  “How long has he held you?”

  “He took me the day after Lawrence’s birth.”

  I glanced up at the tall demon lord. “I thought you left before Lindy knew she was pregnant.”

  He grabbed my wrist. “You speak of Coralinda as if you knew her.”

  Eyeing him angrily, I wrenched my wrist from his grasp. “She came to me after she died. Lawrence was missing; she wanted me to find him and find him I did. If it wasn’t for me and Royal, Lawrence would be dead, not High Lord of Bel-Athaer.”

  He dipped his head. “If so, you have my gratitude.”

  If so? Chris opened his mouth. I slit my eyes and shook my head. I didn’t care if Gryphon disbelieved me and arguing was not worth my breath. Chris got the message. He glared at Gryphon but said nothing.

  Gryphon shook his head slightly. “I held Lawrence in my arms. We were happy, Coralinda and I. I was born and raised in Cincinnati. I knew who I was; I had no interest in the High House. I anticipated an uneventful life with my small family. But the Seer… .

  “The Seers have risen above themselves, they crave the power of a Lord. Of them all, none is more vicious and merciless than Cicero. He hungers for the High House and thus dominion over Bel-Athaer. He wanted to place someone he could manipulate on the Seat, but they must be a legitimate claimant. Who better than a true High Lord by right and blood, a young boy easily misled? But Lawrence is not a malleable child, he refuses to obey the Seer and therefore is his antagonist, not his ally. Now I am free, I will not let him die by Cicero’s hand.”

  He cast a look at Chris. “You are fortunate as I to escape him. What he does to his captives, how he uses them … it sickens me.”

  The old blood in Chris’ cell still stuck in the deep grooves of my soles. “That room is a torture chamber.”

  “Indeed. His captives endure unspeakable torment.”

  “Why does he do it?”

  “For their secrets. If they die before speaking, he questions their spirits.”

  I stopped walking. “You’re mistaken.”

  “He had me watch one such execution, the torture and the death. Then he appeared to question the corpse. He told me I should expect the same one day in the future.”

  My feet were rooted to the floor.

  Until Dun Falmor, I saw only one Gelpha shade. Unlike the shades of humans, who seem to take their own sweet time materializing, Maud rose at the moment of death and lingered briefly. A violent death did not keep her here, nor that her executioner still lived. I thought those rules applied to all Gelpha shades, but the shades in Dun Falmor were still there some time after they died or we’d have seen evidence of the massacre. But, if like Maud, all rose seconds after they died… .

  Like Maud, Cicero’s victims rose immediately after being tortured and killed. Unlike Maud, they did not immediately pass over. I imagined them, confused, no doubt still terrified, reliving the last terrible moments of their life, their defenses down. Cicero batters them with questions. They reply.

  Dun Falmor. When the villagers didn’t give Cicero what he wanted, he had them killed and questioned their shades.

  My shoulder hit the wall. I leaned into it, head turned to press my brow to the cool rock as the truth hammered me. My kind Uncle found me when I was three. He watched me, but didn’t think I was what he needed, so left me in ignorance. Until I did somethi
ng to make him believe I have what it takes to be a Seer.

  I killed, and he thought I did so without compunction.

  “Tiff.” Chris grasped my shoulder and shook it. “I’m sure hearing your own flesh and blood is despicable is a blow, but we must keep moving.”

  The power of the Seers. They didn’t predict the future, or see events outside their sphere of influence. They killed people for their secrets. “I swear I didn’t know.”

  Another shake. “We’ll talk about it later.”

  I pushed away from the wall. My lips felt numb. “Yes, you’re right, let’s get out of here.”

  I wished Cicero had left me alone to my life. He brought me here because he thought I was like him: cold, callous, merciless. Sourness rose in my throat.

  We came to the cells, and the captives stood at the bars, hands grasping them, faces pressed to them so hard there would be welts. What did Cicero want with them?

  Their voices ran the length of the corridor. “My Lord, my Lord,” they sang as we stood at the first cell.

  “We can’t leave them here, but breaking them loose one at a time will take hours,” I murmured.

  Gryphon raised his voice, which didn’t worry me as Cicero couldn’t hear us in the depths of the mountain even if he were awake. “I wish nothing more than to return you to your homes and families, but time is short. I must quit this place before the Seer wakens and summons his people. But I will return with an army to free you.”

  “And from which pocket will you pull that?” Chris asked. He’d definitely gotten over his awe of Gryphon.

  “I will ask my son. We can hie to Bon Moragh and back before morning if we leave now.”

  Yeah, they could, using demon speed.

  “Surely you’ll take the Seat?” Chris asked.

  “No.” Gryphon shook his head so his long dark-chestnut hair thrashed his shoulders. “Lawrence is High Lord. I hope he will accept my guidance and friendship, but I do not want the Seat.”

  “Hm,” Chris hummed. “Are you up for the challenge? Boys his age are precocious as it is, and you’ll pop in with, ‘Hello, I’m your dad and I want to be your best friend.’ May not go down too well, my Lord.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I spat vehemently. I glared at Gryphon. “If you stay with Lawrence, you be his father, not his friend, his father.”

  Chris’ brows arched. I scowled and walked away.

  Gryphon said a few more words to his people, but I heard them as a murmur. I was unexpectedly, abruptly furious. I met plenty of kids in foster care whose parents decided to be best friends instead of parents, letting their kids do what they wanted even when it wasn’t good for them; looking the other way, making excuses. Kids need rules, structure, balance and a whole lot of love and understanding.

  Gryphon had the opportunity to be a father and give Lawrence everything I never had. He’d damn well better not throw it away.

  I decided to leave the gate and door unlocked in the unlikelihood we had to beat a hasty retreat. You never know.

  Knowing we approached the most dangerous leg of our escape, we three exchanged meaningful looks, then crept along.

  I decided what to do. Meeting Gia’s deadline was no longer an issue. I would go to the High House with Gryphon. I wanted to see their faces when the hereditary High Lord walked among them; although they’d never seen him before, they would know him, as Chris had. I wanted to see the councilors’ awe. I wanted to see them cowed by a ruler way more powerful than young Lawrence.

  “Chris, are you going home, or with Gryphon?”

  I caught the edge of his smile. “I’m going to the High House. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  “I’m going with you.”

  He dipped his chin in his neck. “Not a good idea, my love.”

  I touched his arm. “You get to take me. I’ll have to hang on to you, real tight,” I whispered.

  “Now that is an offer I can’t refuse.” He stopped, turned to me and opened his arms. “It will be my pleasure, Sweetness.”

  “Not here. Outside.”

  We neared the last corridor. “No more talking, okay? You and Gryphon head out. I’ll get my stuff and be on your heels.”

  I didn’t worry about their waking Cicero as they passed his bedroom. Demons move silently, as if their feet are winged.

  And here we were. Chris blew a silent kiss in my direction. I rolled my eyes and opened the door to my room.

  Inside, I grabbed my backpack off the couch and put my lock picks and flashlight in there. I was about to stuff my hoodie inside when I knew something was missing. I pulled my stuff out; down vest, underwear, the mini-products, lock picks, flashlight, the Ruger’s shoulder holster. I couldn’t find Lawrence’s note. Maybe it fell out and got lost in the couch?

  All the fat pillows left barely enough empty space in which to sit. I picked one up and hugged it to my chest as I moved the others, sliding my hand between and behind the seat cushions. I felt the brittleness of paper and pulled out the note.

  Then I froze.

  I brought the cushion to my face and inhaled deeply, the scent of sandalwood and amber.

  I strode across the corridor holding my Ruger. I seethed, so enraged I risked bursting a blood vessel. Cicero lied to me. Royal was here. He sat on that couch, maybe slept in that bed.

  Uncle and I were finally going to have that conversation and it would not be pleasant for one of us.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Royal knew his eyes were open yet he saw nothing. Had Orcus exacted revenge, blinding him as he may have blinded Joshua?

  He closed his eyes and tentatively rubbed the lids. When he opened them again he saw a gray blur which slowly resolved into vertical lines.

  He was in a cage.

  He sat on an unyielding surface and he was naked.

  He was cold. The instant he knew that, he began to shake uncontrollably. He clasped his hands and squeezed, but still he shook and his teeth chattered.

  “Do not worry,” a voice said. “It is an aftereffect of the narcotic. It will pass. Try to relax, Ryel.”

  He turned his head with effort, managed to say, “Darja?”

  Bars on this side, too. And beyond them, bathed in the same dim, amber light which barely illuminated his cell, Darja squatted near the bars. Most of her long fading-salmon hair had loosened from the elegant chignon and feathered over her face and shoulders, leaving a small topknot which looked somewhat ludicrous. She wore a short, gray sleeveless shift which exposed her graceful neck and fell to her bare thighs. The low light refracted off her hair, creating a glow which illuminated her features.

  At least she was more or less decently clad. Royal wore a leather clout, nothing more.

  He shuddered violently. “They drugged me?”

  “Relax, or your muscles will seize.”

  He tried, drawing in deep breaths, imagining his body loosening, starting at his toes, upward to his head. Warmth gradually crept into his limbs. His teeth stopped chattering. He could breathe properly again.

  “How long?”

  “Two days.”

  He delved in his muzzy memory and recalled coming partly awake several times; cool liquid sliding down his throat before he sank into oblivion again.

  Now his vision had cleared he saw the totality of his predicament. Bars and a wall imprisoned him.

  Darja came up from her squat and settled down again next to the bars which separated them. “What did you do, Ryel, to earn Orcus’ ire?”

  Royal inched over there. “I was a fool.” He leaned back on the wall, let his skull rest on it. “Lawrence… .” He stopped - how much did Darja know? Could he trust her?

  “Ah, Lawrence.”

  He felt a weight on his chest. “Is he well?”

  Darja scooted back until she mirrored Royal, seated with her back to the wall. “I hope so, Ryel.”

  “Yet you fear not. What happened, Darja?”

  “It began innocuously. Lawrence took an active part in Council m
eetings; he asked the right questions and made insightful suggestions. We were encouraged by his perception. All well and good, until the day he said no. He vetoed a proposal.”

  “It is his right.” Royal frowned. “This proposal… .”

  “Ah, therein lies the rub. Gareth presented it, but it came from Cicero. He wanted us to increase the national tax.”

  Royal considered the ramifications of increased taxes. Bel-Athaer was a feudal system, not a democracy. Each House cared for its own in the areas of commerce, travel, healthcare, and other necessities of modern life. It worked remarkably well. And each House owed fealty to the High House, which it provided with coin and manpower. In return, the High House settled disputes, financially bolstered lesser Houses when times were hard and stepped in during emergencies.

  And times were hard. “Lawrence was right.”

  “Aye. The Houses would not stand for it, specifically those in the south, which only now begin to recover from the drought that took their crops last summer. Our tenuous peace would not last.” Darja smiled. “But can you picture our faces, Ryel? A Seer’s proposals are not queried, much less vetoed. And here our young High Lord did exactly that.

  “Gareth reminded Lawrence the proposal came from Cicero, which made it more an order than a suggestion. Lawrence said he did not care.”

  She sighed deeply. “A month later, he did it again. He came to me not long after, convinced some person meant him harm. There were accidents and near-accidents. Lawrence’s filly collapsed as he rode. An autopsy found oleander in its stomach, and it was thought some well-meaning child fed the horse over the paddock fence. The rail on his balcony had come away from the foundation, but he saw it before he made the mistake of leaning on it. He slipped when descending a stairwell and only his valet’s quick thinking saved him from a nasty, perhaps deadly fall. We found common cooking grease on the step.

  “We increased Lawrence’s security detail, but he became unhappy and nervous. Then he came to me again. He said the Burning Man paid a visit. He made subtle but unmistakable threats. We called the Council.” She shook her head. “How could we have been so naïve?”

  “What happened?”

  She shook her head again, dropped it on her bent knees so he had to lean into the bars to hear her words. “The meeting lasted for hours until we were exhausted. None dared call Lawrence a liar, but some tried to persuade him he was mistaken. He remained adamant. We went around in circles and decided to reconvene the next day.” She lifted her head to meet his eyes. “And the next day, Orcus summoned us to the Chamber and accused me, Haddon, Carlylse, Veron, Worscht and Brismal of treason. We were arrested and brought here.”