And his aura. There was no pain or regret. Only happiness and excitement. He was so carefree. I think that more than anything made him appear so young to me. He wasn't burdened with the cares and hardships of two hundred years. Not yet, anyway.
He was breathless and at once apologetic. “I'm sorry, Da. I didn't realize you were occupied.”
Pastor O'Donnell forced a smile. “Not at all, Patrick. I will be done soon, if you can wait.”
“Of course.” He nodded politely to each of us, his eyes lingering over my face in a familiar sort of way. From that one look, he would dream of me—be inspired to sketch my face.
He gave me a last respectful bow, his blue eyes shining brightly, and took a step back and pulled the door closed.
We stood staring at the place he had been, and I knew that my work here was done. I'd finished everything I was supposed to do. Yet I was reluctant to leave.
Pastor O'Donnell spoke quietly beside me. “When you go back… you will tell him of my love? You will apologize for the things I am about to do—the things I did?”
“I will,” I promised.
He gave one stiff nod. “Someday I will tell my wife these things, so that she will know a measure of peace. I will tell her of you, and she will be glad. And Sean… I will try my hardest to keep him from his folly.”
I smiled just a little. “Maybe say a few of those magic prayers with him. You're really good at that.”
He chuckled, but his eyes were serious. “That magic is available to everyone, Kate.”
I nodded, because I knew that's what he wanted, but I had a feeling that I would never be able to pray like he did.
He smiled at me, and I think he could read my thoughts. But he didn't pressure me. He just reached out and shook my hand one last time. “Good luck, Kate. May God be with you.”
He was ready for me to go. And it was time. I could feel the tug on my stomach, letting me know that my body was more than ready to go back to its rightful time.
“Thank you, Pastor O'Donnell. Thank you for everything.”
“No. Thank you, Kate.” A mischievous smile suddenly twisted his lips, and my cheeks warmed at his next words. “You and Patrick… I may be ignorant about what things are like in the future, but I raised my son on certain principles. Will you be my daughter one day?”
I was blushing deeply now. “Um… I'm not sure. We haven't really talked about anything like that.”
His grin widened. “Well… I suppose I shall add a little something extra to my prayers…”
I didn't make a comment, but I don't think he was expecting any.
We said our last farewells, and then I took a deep breath and focused on the Demon Lord's instructions on how to return.
I closed my eyes to block out distractions, concentrating on the place I wanted to be. Back to the moment I'd left behind. I pictured Patrick's face, since he was my strongest pull. I struggled to remember exactly what his hand on my arm had felt like, and slowly the rest of the details came back to me. Far Darrig's serious expression, the Demon Lord's bright eyes…
I felt the tug in my gut, and suddenly the wooden smell of the church was gone. I knew without opening my eyes that Pastor O'Donnell was gone too.
I could feel myself sitting on the chair, felt Patrick's fingers tighten on my arm as I sagged forward.
“Kate!” Patrick's voice was distant, but the worry was evident.
I heard the Demon Lord's pleased voice. “Excellent.”
And then I wasn't aware of anything.
Kate Bennett
Present Day
Nevada, United States
Someone was holding my hand. The air was cool, and I was lying on a comfortable bed. My eyes were closed, but I knew instinctively that the room was only dimly lit. Every muscle ached, and I had a slight headache. My limbs felt extremely heavy, but other than that I felt okay. I was alive, anyway.
Fingers lay against my smooth forehead, and then Patrick's murmuring voice warmed the room. “Kate? Are you really awake this time?”
“Hmm…” It was a cross between a sigh and a grunt.
His fingertips brushed at some of my loose hairs, and his other fingers squeezed my hand comfortingly. “It's all right. You can keep sleeping. Take your time…”
As nice as that sounded, I didn't want to drift away from him again. I forced my reluctant eyelids to lift, and I was instantly captured by his clear blue eyes. There were so many emotions there that I hardly knew what to focus on first. The most present was relief, and that made me feel better. At least he wasn't disgusted by the sight of me, despite everything I'd done to him and his family.
My peripheral vision told me that we were in a bedroom, easily double to triple the size of my room back home. The space was comfortingly dark, until I realized there weren't any windows. There wasn't a lot in the spacious room—an open door that led to a small bathroom, a closet, a couple of plush chairs, and some dressers. The decor was muted and purple in color, a pale lavender that seemed to make breathing easier. A lamp in the corner was on dimly, but that was the only light to fill the large space.
Patrick was sitting beside me on the bed, and though everything around him was in shadow, his face was clearly illuminated. I noticed easily that the Demon Lord hadn't been lying about replacing Patrick's shirt—he was wearing a crisp white long-sleeved shirt. The time was impossible to guess, but my internal clock told me that I'd spent hours unconscious; much different from the first time I'd traveled through a memory.
We stared at each other for a silent moment, and then I pressed my palm more firmly against his. “Your aura. It's gone.”
He nodded once. “As soon as you returned, I was injected with the antidote.”
“They kept their word.”
“You sound surprised.”
“Honestly, I guess I am. How are you feeling? You look a lot better.”
“I feel better. Just tired.” His eyes tightened. “Are you all right? One moment you were staring at him, and the next… you were falling.”
“Really? It was instantaneous for you?”
He swallowed roughly. “Yes. An eternal second, but… the Demon Lord assured me that you'd completed the job. I don't know how he knew. They carried you in here, and I refused to leave you alone, though they offered me a room. Selena came in once to check on us, but I haven't seen anyone else.”
“What time is it?”
He glanced over my body at the clock on the far nightstand. “Almost six. You've come close to waking several times.”
“Wow.” I closed my eyes, trying to come to grips with everything that had happened—all the time that had passed, and the time that hadn't. “I can't believe that was one second for you. I was there for… a good twenty minutes or more.”
“In the past.”
I opened my eyes. “Yes. I saw Sean.”
Patrick nodded, but didn't—or couldn't—reply.
“He looked so different,” I whispered, almost to myself. “So happy. He was chopping wood. I think he was flirting with me.”
“He did that frequently.”
My eyes trailed down from his taut face to look at our joined hands at my side. “I saw your father, the church, and your house. It was so beautiful there. So peaceful. I didn't want to leave. “
He exhaled heavily through his nose, and I looked up to his tightly flexed jaw. For one crazy minute, I thought he was angry with me. But then he spoke softly, looking at the headboard behind me. “Sometimes I think I remember every detail of that place. And sometimes… I struggle to remember anything.”
My voice was a reverent whisper. “Everything was so green. I've never seen anything like it.”
Patrick's voice was steady and even. “What did you say to him? My father?”
“I couldn't say anything at first,” I admitted. “And then he took me into the church, right up on the front row. And then he held my hands and he prayed for me.”
Patrick's lips tugged into a smile, and he
lowered his eyes to my face. “The cross. I'll bet he kept looking at the cross.”
I nodded, a thin laugh escaping my twisting mouth. “Yes.” I hesitated, then released his hand so I could push myself up into a sitting position. My back rested heavily against the headboard, and I set my hand on his nearest knee. “I told him everything. About you and Sean. The Guardians, the Demons… everything.”
He stared at my fingers on his leg, and his voice was wooden. “You told him that both his sons would never reach heaven. I'm sure he's never been so disappointed.”
I shook my head delicately. “He was heartbroken about losing you. But he wasn't disappointed in you, Patrick.” I took a deep breath and reached for his hand.
He surrendered it belatedly, but soon I was cradling his fingers in both of my hands. I waited until he met my intense gaze before I continued seriously. “He kept telling me what a wonderful son you are. He told me to tell you that he was sorry for everything he did to you—everything he ever said. He loves you so much, Patrick. He always has, and he always will.”
When my words died, his eyes fell, peering silently at our folded hands.
I couldn't have guessed his exact thoughts, but I knew he was putting this new information to the memories he had. That whatever his father had eventually said, he hadn't meant the words… It would have been a lot to come to terms with.
Finally he raised his head and forced a smile. “I'm glad you were able to meet him.” It was all he could manage to say, but it said enough.
“I saw you,” I added lowly.
He nodded once, his eyes a little brighter than before. “I walked in on you in the church. I wanted to show him the sketch I'd finally finished. I was so proud of it. I was sure it was my best work.”
“You remember?”
“Vaguely. Most of my past memories are like that, though. Cloudy, until I place a few solid details.”
I squeezed his hand and took a deep breath. “What are we going to do, Patrick? How are we supposed to get out of this?”
He gathered me in his arms, and I leaned gratefully against him. “This was your brilliant idea,” he mumbled into my hair, but I knew he wasn't being completely serious.
“I know. I didn't think this far ahead. In all honesty, I thought we'd both be dead by now.”
His arms flexed around my shoulders. “Isn't it a good thing we're not?”
I sighed into his chest. “Yeah.”
“Then why do you sound depressed?”
“Because now I'm not sure what to expect from them.”
His lips pressed against the top of my head, then he leaned back so he could meet my eyes. One hand lay against the side of my face, and his fingertips stroked comfortingly at my temples. “I don't know what's going to happen. Maybe Toni can get us out of here, maybe he can't. But I'm not leaving you. No matter what happens.”
I swallowed hard, my emotions dangerously near the surface.
Before I could think of a good reply the doors pushed open without warning, and we were no longer alone. Patrick's position didn't change, but he seemed to freeze around me—his hand on my face fell to my shoulder only because I moved to follow his gaze to the open doors across the room.
The first person to step inside wasn't a Demon. Her aura was definitely human, but in this place there was every chance she was a Seer. She was dressed in a maid's outfit, and she was pushing one of those room service carts. It was piled with food, and the mouth-watering smells reminded me instantly that I hadn't eaten anything since breakfast.
She looked to be about sixteen. Way too young to be working for the Demon Lord. She had dark-brown hair, gathered into a serviceable ponytail at the back of her head. It swished when she walked, but I was trying to focus on her aura—to see how much of a threat she was.
I was immediately confused by what I saw. There was obvious fear and some depression, but there was intense happiness too. Excitement? Great. She liked serving the Demon Lord.
Someday soon I might be in her shoes, but I promised myself that I would never be happy about it.
Following closely behind her was Far Darrig. After seeing Sean in the past, the differences between who he had been and who he was now seemed completely unfeasible. Yet the eyes didn't lie. Those beautiful, pristine blue eyes were the same. This was definitely Sean. But instead of flirting, those eyes were searing with a barely controlled, depthless anger.
I don't think Patrick even noticed the girl. He had eyes only for his brother, who was trying to ignore him in return. Far Darrig stood just inside the doorway, keeping an eye on the maid while she wheeled the cart to the foot of the huge bed.
She smiled at me and waved her tanned hand generously over the many dishes. “Dinner is served! The Demon Lord doesn't like his Special Seers to get sick, so you should eat as much as you can. Traveling takes a lot out of you, I know.” She kept staring right at me, her smile too wide to be natural. It was kind of freaking me out. That, and her bright Texas accent was a bit annoying.
“Um, thank you,” I finally said, when no one else opted to break the awkward pause.
She offered a slight curtsy. “No problem. If y'all need anything else, just call for room service. Ask for Maddy, and I'll be up in a jiff. The Demon Lord likes you to have anything you desire, and all your orders are on the house.”
Far Darrig made an impatient sound in his throat, and Maddy pulled a face at us. “Sorry. I guess I talk too much. Anyhow, y'all just give a ring if you think of anything else you need. I get off at ten, though, so—”
“Enough,” Far Darrig growled. “Get back to work.”
Maddy gave us a last bow and then straightened her small white apron as she turned and walked back toward the doors.
She was almost to the Demon's side when she suddenly laughed and shook her head. “Oh my—I've forgotten the Oreos.” She turned back to us, pulling out a small blue package from one of her apron pockets. Before Far Darrig could complain, she came rushing back to the bed. She stepped past her cart and came right up to us.
She was still smiling too wide, and her eyes were right on mine as she handed the individually wrapped cookies to me. “You can't forget the Oreos,” she told me, her Southern drawl friendly but her eyes tight and layered with meaning. “You need the extra sugar, trust me.”
And then it hit me—I don't know why it took me that long in the first place. Oreos. Oh my Oreos. It was a message from Lee. It had to be! Somehow Lee and Toni and the others knew Maddy. They were using her to send us a message. We could trust her.
Maddy saw the dawn of understanding taking place in my eyes, and she gave me a slight nod and a quick wink before turning and fairly skipping out of the room. I don't think Patrick caught any of this—he was still focused on his brother.
Far Darrig seemed clueless about the exchange as well. It was obvious he didn't care for Maddy's lingering or her happy attitude, but he didn't think she was an enemy spy.
I was abruptly filled with hope. I couldn't wait for him to leave, so I could let Patrick know that everything was going to be okay. Or at the very least, that we stood a chance.
Maddy stepped out of view and Far Darrig was turning to follow her when Patrick finally found his voice. “Sean. Wait.”
Far Darrig stopped moving, his back firmly to us.
Patrick's words were pleading. “Please, Sean. Just tell me how. Tell me why.”
Far Darrig moved slowly—almost imperceptibly—but finally he was facing the bed, his piercing eyes digging into Patrick's. “What's done is done,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “There's no reason to talk.”
Patrick was shaking his head, eyes still glued to his brother's dark face. “No, Sean. I have to hear you say the words, or I'm not going to believe it. I'm not going to believe you're this person.”
“I nearly killed you. Isn't that proof enough?”
Patrick swallowed hard. “No. Because I didn't see it.”
Far Darrig grunted. “For such a creative mind,
you lack a great deal of imagination.”
“What happened? That's all I want to know.”
“Time passed. Things changed. That's what happened.”
“That's not good enough.”
Far Darrig moved quickly. Patrick barely had time to push me away before his brother was crashing on top of him, hands clutching around his throat. “How about this?” Sean growled, tightening his fingers around the tender skin and shoving Patrick deeper against the unyielding headboard. “Is this good enough?”
Patrick's eyes watered, and he couldn't even choke because Sean was strangling him so completely.
“Stop it!” I yelled sharply, scrambling off my side so I could scratch Far Darrig's tightly flexed arms, push uselessly against his stone shoulder.
Far Darrig gave Patrick's bulging eyes an evil smile. “Or do I have to do this?” One of his hands peeled away from crushing Patrick's windpipe, and then I was backhanded so swiftly, so harshly that I fell back against the bed, completely stunned.
Patrick's gasp for breath was more like a growl, and then he was kicking Sean off of him, and they both fell grappling to the floor. I could hear them rolling around—a few grunts, a punch—and then Sean went skidding across the floor from a strong kick.
By the time they were both back to their feet and crouched defensively, eyeing each other calculatingly, I was back to a sitting position. My ears were ringing, but my vision was surprisingly clear.
I saw Patrick's back shake, and reluctantly he straightened out of his crouch, lowering his guard even while his brother continued to glare.
“Come on!” Sean rasped, drawing in shallow breaths too rapidly. “I'm not letting you get off that easily!”
Patrick shook his head seriously, breathing hard but somehow looking completely relaxed. “I don't want to fight you. I won't, Sean.”
“Stop calling me that!” Far Darrig fairly yelled. “Stop acting like you don't hate me!”
“I don't hate you, Sean.”
“Well, I hate you.” He sneered, and I knew his words tore Patrick's heart.
“Why? Why do you hate me so much?”
Demons Page 39
