by P. R. Frost
“I don’t have two. And I’m not sure I want the one. He doesn’t always tell the truth, and when I do get a few words out of him, it’s only half what I asked.” That could apply to either Gollum or Donovan.
“Look again, Tess. They’re both in love with you. Let me know which one you really want and I’ll take the other.”
Before I could issue a sharp retort, gravel in the drive crunched under the heavy tires of my sister Cecilia’s double cab pickup.
Chapter 12
The term “Honeymoon” comes from the custom of providing the bride and groom a moon’s worth of mead, a honey wine, to ensure fertility.
EL STINKO DONOVAN doesn’t smell like anything normal on this plane, if you can smell anything beyond his cloying cologne—too much is not better than nothing, dahling. So how can he and Darren be related, if they don’t smell alike? Mom and Tess have smells of kinship. Cecilia belongs in the same circle. Tess and Cecilia have a similar bond with MoonFeather. All born of common factors in their blood.
Darren, the dad, is part demon. I know it. I feel it in my bones and in my nose. My internal combustion engine pumps overtime and flashes me bright red. I want to witch myself into the Celestial Blade the moment he steps out of Cecilia’s truck.
Cecilia likes the big tires and heavy engine truck so she can blow lesser vehicles off the road. It makes her feel like she is in control. Now, if she’d just gain control over her figure and her clothes, she wouldn’t need to drive that phallic symbol. You’d think if she needed to make such a bold statement, she could pick a pretty color for the truck, like pink or basic black. That dirty mustard yellow makes her skin look so sallow she can’t do anything with it.
She should have paid more attention to her mom.
Mom does classic so well, you’d think her daughters would have inherited some fashion sense.
Back to D & D. D the dad has the classic silver wings of hair at his temples, and the portly figure of a Damiri demon. His name begins with a D and ends with and N. He even has that extra flap of skin under his arms where he hides his batwings when he’s in human form. The whiff of ultra dough I get from his titanium credit cards and the gold chain about his neck also tell me he has Damiri connections. They are all as rich as Bill Gates. They just don’t advertise it.
At least he dresses well. I love that microfiber jacket. Looks like brushed silk, or maybe very fine suede in a lovely buff color. I’d forgotten how beautiful men can be. (purr) But his khaki slacks and pink-and-green-flowered shirt won’t cut it in Cape Cod. Especially in this weather.
Donovan has decent fashion sense if you go for that brooding all black look. He’s got the hair of a Damiri. He’s got the name. But he’s lean and fit and he doesn’t have a trace of wings beneath his arms.
And he lost all his money last year when the casino imploded down a rogue demon portal.
“What is that!” Mom exploded the moment her feet touched the gravel. She pointed over the kitchen door. She didn’t even notice that the melting snow soaked her casual shoes, or that the wind must be cutting through her light sweater like a broadsword through leather armor.
I spun to see what strangeness had offended her. At least she hadn’t pinned her attention on the bonfire.
A bleached white bone skull, bigger than a dead steer’s in the desert, with spikes that would put a Texas longhorn to shame protruding from its head. Eight horseshoes ringed the skull, all with their open end pointing up so the luck wouldn’t drain out.
It’s your new gargoyle, Scrap whispered in my ear from the top of the chimney. The closest he could get to Donovan.
“Why, Mom, it’s nice to see you, too.” I gave her a hug and ushered her toward the door. “You must be freezing. Come inside and get warm. We’ll do introductions there. Your friend can unload the luggage. I’ve put him and his son in the guest cottage. You’re bunking with me.”
Good move, dahling. He can rest in his natural form out there. Keep him happier and less mean during the day. Scrap yawned, exposing three rows of teeth that rivaled those of the dead gnomes for sharpness and plentitude.
“Really, Genevieve, I knew your daughter was rebellious, but that pagan idol is too much.” Darren shuddered and looked at the sky rather than the house. “I cannot enter such an ungodly house.”
The gargoyle! Scrap chortled. He can’t enter the house.
Scrap, what is it and where did it come from?
I grabbed it from Mum’s home in Imp Haven. You can find anything in the freeze-dry garbage dump of the universe.
He wiggled all over in delight.
“So they’re demons,” I muttered sotto voce.
“Did you say demons?” Mom asked. Her eyes narrowed and I could almost see her running calculations in her head. “I’d say that skull is demonic.” She dug in her heels and refused to budge.
“It’s just a resin sculpture, Mom. I picked it up at a con. And I said lemons, not demons. We need lemons for the fish sauce I’m planning for tomorrow night.”
“Speaking of food, what are you planning on feeding this crew tonight?” Cecilia asked. A malicious gleam in her eyes told me she knew the state of my refrigerator. Empty.
“We can have pizza or Chinese delivered. That is unless you plan on cooking,” I replied sweetly. I met my sister’s gaze.
Pure malice poured from her. She was older than me and our brother Stephen, shorter than me by almost one half inch, and heavier by fifty pounds. She resented every breath I took, and had ever since I was born. Especially since I lost my extra poundage when I had the imp flu three years ago. Now I ate everything I wanted and didn’t gain an ounce.
Staying thin was part of my revenge for the horrible trick she played on me with a bat costume when I was three. She was the source of my phobia.
“Genevieve,” Darren pointed to the dragon skull over the door.
“Tess, be a dear and take that horrible thing down.”
I jerked my head and Donovan leaped to obey. Donovan? How could he touch the damn thing if his father couldn’t even get close to it?
A memory of something back in the Citadel . . .
Sister Gert had just said prayers for the newly repaired refectory roof. She’d invoked the powers of the dozens of copper gargoyles to keep out all those who harbored evil in their hearts.
Before I could remember what had happened next, Donovan climbed onto an overturned half barrel that had once held potting soil and tulips. His long arms reached the skull easily. “I’ll just put this somewhere safe,” he muttered after he had lifted it free of its supporting hook.
“Like over the old staircase?” I quipped. That ought to keep Darren out of my mother’s bedroom. So how did I keep her out of his?
“You really should consider your obligations as hostess, Tess,” Cecilia admonished me as we trooped inside. She already had her head in the refrigerator and half the cupboards open. They really were empty.
“Actually, I’d planned to take Tess out to dinner tonight,” Donovan jumped into the conversation. “Since you didn’t give us any warning, I’m sure you can fend for yourselves.”
“I’m sure I told you I was coming when I called you last night, D,” Darren said. He clapped his son on the back hard enough to make Donovan stumble.
“No, you didn’t,” Donovan growled. “I thought I had Cape Cod to myself.”
“Why don’t Allie and Gollum come with us?” I returned Donovan’s smile, trying to hide my grimace and my questions at his last comment.
Scrap said that Donovan’s father reeked of demon scent. Therefore, Donovan must also be a demon. I couldn’t trust him alone. I’d seen what demons—even half-blood demons—did when their natures overcame the thin gloss of civilization a human form gave them. So why did my insides still turn to liquid and my skin tingle in anticipation of his touch?
I needed a buffer between us. I also needed a breather from my mother. Why not do a little match-making between Allie and Gollum on the side?
Bu
t that would leave Mom alone with Darren. Presumably, she’d been alone with him down in Florida.
I gnashed my teeth in indecision.
He won’t hurt Mom yet, Scrap whispered from the far reaches of the house. He wants something, so he can’t dispose of her until he gets it.
I really didn’t like the idea of any of us being disposable.
“But if you all aren’t here, it will spoil our surprise,” Mom whined. “I want the whole family together tonight.”
The crowd had stalled in the kitchen. Like they always did. It was usually the most inviting room in the house. But I couldn’t get beyond the stench of bleach and blood; the image of an Orculli troll taking a hunk out of MoonFeather; the crunch of breaking bones as I impaled one of the beasts with my Celestial Blade.
“Dinner sounds good to me. Pick me up at six-thirty,” Allie called as she hastily exited. She’d disposed of the evidence of our speedy cleanup. “Much as I’d love to stay and watch the fireworks, I’ve got to file some reports and clock out at the station.” She waved jauntily and closed the door firmly behind her. Leaving me alone with my family and assorted extras.
“Surprise isn’t always good, Mom. Tomorrow we’ll invite Dad and Bill and Cecilia and Jim and their kids to come, too, make a big celebration of it. MoonFeather will be here, too. She’s been hurt. I offered to take care of her before I knew you were coming home.”
We settled around the new table with coffee and some stale cookies I found in the freezer and hastily nuked. Mom and Darren scooted their chairs so close together they might have been made from the same boards. They held hands atop the table and rubbed thighs beneath it.
“We met at a dance in Cousin Clothilde’s condo on the beach,” Mom gushed.
“She was the prettiest woman in the room. I couldn’t look at anyone else,” Darren picked up the story. He spoke with a faint accent that I couldn’t place. It might have been Spanish, from Spain with the Hapsburg lisp not generic Mexican, but I couldn’t place it exactly.
I watched Gollum mouth the words, a puzzled look on his face as he, too, tried to place the accent. Professor Guilford Van der Hoyden-Smythe spoke four or five living languages and read a couple of dead ones. He claimed he could learn an American Indian dialect in six weeks. He also claimed that his family had studied and archived demons for generations. Surely he’d find the origins of that accent if anyone could. Any human, that is.
“It was love at first sight,” Mom sighed.
“True love, everlasting love,” Darren echoed.
I’d known that kind of love. With Dill. How could I fault Mom for falling head over heels for such a charming man?
A demon. I had to remind myself. Darren was a demon. And he was using my mother.
Donovan smiled at me, and I grew hot all over. That was his magic. He could calm a riot with that smile. I’d seen him do it. He’d lulled Allie’s cop instincts and suspicions. He could also make a woman fall in love with him.
The only time I could resist him was when I wore a magical hair comb Scrap had given me. It allowed me to see through demon glamour to the man beneath. Except with Donovan I saw only a man, no demon hiding beneath the surface. I’d never figured out his strange aura though: an inviting golden glow laced with a tight black chain. Darkness and light. Good and evil.
Most people had both elements in their souls.
“Mom, I have an engagement present for you. I want you to wear it on your wedding day.” I kissed the top of her head as I retreated to my bedroom where I’d stashed the comb. Right now, Mom needed it more than me.
The best offense was a good defense. Mom needed all the help she could get defending herself from that man . . . demon.
A quick check on WindScribe showed her dreaming happily in her bed. With the vial of tranquilizers beside her.
Damn. I knew I should have flushed them. But right now, having this extra guest sound asleep seemed advantageous. I pocketed the tranquilizers.
When I returned to the kitchen, I paused a moment in the narrow entry from the butler’s pantry. Curious, I gathered up my mop of sandy-blonde curls and jammed the comb into them.
Instantly colors shifted and intensified. My balance tilted as well. When the moment of disorientation cleared, I peered closely at Darren and Donovan. As I expected, Darren assumed an aura with a bat’s sharp features and furred face overlaying his handsome human countenance.
Now that I knew for sure, I had to stop this marriage. One way or another, even if I had to kill Darren. In open battle or by stealth.
Donovan remained enigmatic. I could see layers of energy radiating out from him, red and orange swirling together in an angry mix above the gold and black I’d seen before. At no point did his aura touch Darren’s. Indeed, they seemed to repulse each other.
On the other hand, Mom and Cecilia seemed joined. Their energies reached out to each other in a blood bond. They also included me. No matter our likes and dislikes, the baggage of sibling rivalries and parent child differences, we were family.
Darren and Donovan were not related.
But I still couldn’t figure out who or what drove Donovan.
“How sweet of you, Teresa Louise,” Mom gushed as I fitted the comb into her French roll. Her hair was thinning and quite straight, as was Cecilia’s, but she insisted a lady always kept her hair long and wore it up. My mop of tight curls tended to tangle and frizz if I let it get too long. Mom’d look ten years younger if she cut hers properly and let it frame her face.
I tried to be gentle with the metal tines, but still Mom grimaced as the comb took hold. I’d experienced the same thing the first few times I wore it. The comb grabbed hold of more than just hair.
Darren clenched his fists tight. He looked as if he was about to launch himself over the table to strangle me.
Come and get me, big boy. I’ve taken out more hideous critters than you.
Donovan just grinned.
“There now, that looks lovely, Mom,” I said as I settled in my chair with my cold cup of coffee.
“It’s going to take some getting used to,” Mom said. She tugged the magical artifact free of her hair, keeping her eyes closed.
Damn!
“But it will look nice supporting a veil. I do so want a traditional wedding gown and veil.” She sighed and placed both her hands on Darren’s. “Will you mind terribly, cheri, if we wait a few weeks to book the church and send invitations?”
“Not too long, querida,” Darren murmured. “My love burns with impatience.” He leaned over to kiss her. Their lips met in an explosion of passion. Arms around each other, they lingered and tongued, and explored.
I had to look away in embarrassment. Even Cecilia had the grace to blush. An unnatural silence descended upon the table as that kiss went on and on. Well beyond the bounds of propriety.
Anyone else and I’d have told them to get a room.
The comb sat on the table in front of Mom. The gold filigree sparkled in the reflected light from the hanging milk glass lamp. I stared at it mesmerized, even after Mom and Darren broke their teenage-style clinch.
The conversation resumed and flowed around me, I continued to study the tiny gold flowers interlaced with Celtic knotwork on the comb. I picked out stylized symbols from an assortment of cultures: Russian, Irish, French, Italian, Jewish, Arabian, and even an Aztec feathered something. In my perusal, I noticed a blank spot with a few rough edges. An important piece had broken off.
