“There was talk of it at one of the local taverns. Two men claimed to have seen a man caught ablaze. Fire sprouted from his fingertips, they said. But, no body was found. No evidence of this man who possessed the ability to control flame. Have you heard any of these rumors?”
Sage leveled his gaze with Lord Valentine’s. “No.”
Lord Valentine took a deep breath and nodded.
“Good. Since I did my best to squelch them before they spread any further. No need for such stories to cause an uproar. I had my men convince the locals they were the mad tales of a drunkard.”
Sage’s eyes narrowed. He remained silent, not certain whether he should comment. If there was no need to speak, it was better to stay silent so as not to condemn himself with any mistaken word. His head was still clouded with the after effects of drink. Lucky for him, brandy never loosened his tongue.
“You are correct with your assumptions that I want something from you,” Lord Valentine said.
As he suspected. Sage waited for him to get on with it.
Lord Valentine leaned forward again, using the cane as leverage between them. “My brother left my house party shortly after you that night. As I understand it, he’s caught up in some nefarious business. I—”
The man grimaced and paused, looking away from Sage for a moment as if to collect himself before he continued. “I’m told he attacked you on the road.”
If the man had punched him in the jaw, he wouldn’t have been more surprised. Lord Valentine’s brother was the highwayman? Perhaps that’s why he sounded so familiar. But it would mean the man was working for Drake. He had the powder he used on Marianne.
He knew about Marianne.
Did Lord Valentine know as well? Did he work for Drake, too?
Sage did his best to appear that this was an average, not-so-shocking conversation he was having with a friendly acquaintance, but the truth was he kept preparing scenarios in his head. If Lord Valentine acted against him, what were his defenses?
He’d not let anyone take him by surprise again. Sage had learned his lesson by his brother’s hand. And just because his own magic had been stolen from him, the fire he possessed could be put quickly to use, as he proved with those highwaymen, although a tactic best used as a last resort.
“I don’t condone his actions,” Lord Valentine said quickly. He didn’t notice Sage move his hands to his lap. “But no one knows of his whereabouts since that night. I need to know…”
Again the man paused to glance away. There was tension around his eyes. His fingers gripped the head of the cane so tightly his knuckles grew white. Perhaps he did not create this story. Was he telling the truth about his brother?
Sage imagined if Lord Valentine worked for Drake, there would be other ways to get him to talk. After all, Drake used demons for that. Sage tried not to flinch at the memory.
No, if Lord Valentine meant him any harm, he had ample opportunity to do so. He did not feel any danger coming from this man.
“Do you know what became of my brother that night, Mr. Merriweather?”
It was clear to Sage that Lord Valentine feared the worse for his brother. And the man had connected the burned carriage with his hand catching fire that same night. His injured hand that had not sustained any injury at all. It was guesswork. Purely assumptions, but Lord Valentine guessed correctly.
“I can tell you with all honesty,” Sage said in a clear, steady voice. “I have no knowledge of what became of your brother, my lord.”
Lord Valentine stared at him for a moment. Sage saw the doubt flicker in the man’s eyes, but he kept his gaze on him.
“The truth?”
“It is.”
“The stories the men told did not sound promising for my brother’s welfare. The man they attacked threw balls of flame. I…have difficulty believing it, what they said, but after seeing your hand…” Lord Valentine let that last thought drift away. “You have your secrets, Mr. Merriweather. All men do. But, at last sight, I was told my brother was running for his life.”
“Sounds like stories of frightened, drunken men. I would not believe every word they say,” Sage said. It was the best he could offer. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t tell the man any more. He didn’t know what became of the highwaymen after they attacked.
Of course, he didn’t admit if not for Marianne’s interference, Sage might have killed them.
The carriage slowed to a halt.
“Yes,” Lord Valentine said softly. “I thought as much.” He studied Sage for a brief moment, then leaned back into the cushioned seat. “I’m glad we had our little talk. And here we are, arrived at your address. Good evening, Mr. Merriweather.”
Sage hesitated, not certain what else he should say. Words were no longer needed, however.
“Thank you, my lord.” And he descended the carriage. Upon entering his home, he scribbled a note for his servants to deliver in the morning. Not long after, he sank into the mattress of his bed, grateful for the exhaustion consuming him. With Marianne gone, there was no one to watch over him while he slept. But the drinking helped make him drowsy. No chance for dreams if he was too tired to think.
****
Sage relived it again. Caught in a loop, he returned to that night when he entered the mirror, traveling to Castle Blackmoor, to being locked in the room with the demon.
She twisted and curled around him, igniting parts of his body to watch him burn. He screamed in agony and fear. She bit him, licking his blood, drinking from him. He tasted his own blood as she tried to kiss him. Then there was pain again as the fire burned.
He screamed.
Soon the heat engulfed him. He wanted to die. To end the searing pain. He wanted an end to the scorching heat as it surrounded him.
And her laughter. Such an eerie sound. Hideous. Obscene.
She was morphing again, from Julia to Drake to Marianne. He tried looking away, but she wouldn’t let him. She wouldn’t leave him.
“Sage,” she called. “Sage…”
She repeated his name over and over until he noticed the way she spoke his name. It wasn’t with taunting laughter. It was with fear and panic.
“Marianne?” he mumbled.
“Wake up!”
She was screaming now. He blinked his eyes open, realizing he was dreaming.
Or was he? Flames licked at his skin, his clothes, his hair. The bed sheets he lay upon burned. Smoke drifted above him.
To his left Marianne screamed his name.
He sat up about to leap from the bed, but the fear in Marianne’s eyes stopped him. She held out her hands to prevent him from continuing his actions. If he stepped from the bed, he’d bring the fire to her.
Sage fought to breathe, fought to regain control of his rapidly beating heart. The fire was part of him. He needed to extinguish it before it spread to the rest of the house.
He closed his eyes and summoned all the strength he possessed to stop the fire. He imagined the flames curling into a soft glare before dying into wisps of smoke. The heat surrounding him lessened until he felt a chill air brush his cheek.
His eyes flashed open. Marianne stood in front of him, her hand on his face, ghostly tears streaming down her cheeks.
“I thought you were going to die,” Marianne admitted, kneeling on the bed.
The fire was gone. The bed sheets were singed beyond repair, but the bed itself remained intact.
“I feared I would not wake you in time. You were dreaming again…And screaming. Oh, Sage, you were screaming. I’ve never heard such screams. And I could do nothing!” Marianne took her hand away to cover her face as she cried.
“But you did,” Sage said, leaning forward, wishing he could take her hand back to hold it to his cheek. Strange, but he liked the cold of her presence against his heated skin. The contrast soothed him, calmed him, excited him. When he felt the cold air, he knew she touched him. He could close his eyes, imagining the feel of her skin as she touched him.
He shook his
head. The desire for her consumed him as much, if not more, than the fire did. If only he could reach for her…kiss her again.
“Marianne, do not cry,” Sage said. “I cannot bear your tears, my love.”
The word slipped from his tongue. It was an endearment, nothing more, he chided himself. How often had he used it before when it had no meaning? Now, however, the word held power. And he’d never use it regarding another woman for the rest of his life.
“Please, stop crying. You’ll stain the linen with your tears, darling, not to mention your dress. How do you manage to keep your gown clean? Do you have ghostly servants whom I never noticed, keeping your wardrobe pressed and ready to wear?”
Sage’s attempts to make her laugh didn’t work. It was a poor attempt, he admitted, but she did stop crying so he called that small feat a victory.
She stared solemnly at him. The depth of her gaze alarmed him. What was going on inside her head that she looked at him so seriously?
“I’m sorry I did not follow through the mirror,” she said after an eternity. “I’m sorry I was not there to help you.”
The mirror taking them to Drake’s castle.
To the demon…
“No,” Sage said. All attempts at laughter vanished. He was in all seriousness as he stared back. “Never regret your decision. I told you to stay, and I thank the gods and goddesses that you obeyed. I could not bear it if you witnessed the horrors that took place there. Marianne, it was…”
He flinched, remembering who she was and what he was about to tell her. He couldn’t. But he had to… He must tell someone. He was going mad keeping it to himself.
“What? What was it?”
“A demon attacked me,” Sage said, before he could think twice of it. Saying the word aloud sent a chill through him, of a different sort than what he experienced with Marianne’s ghostly touch. “I was chained against a wall. It came to me, changing its appearance several times. It did…horrible things.”
Marianne’s silence comforted him. She didn’t run screaming from the room, which he quite expected of her. Instead, she sat next to him, quietly listening to every word he uttered. He decided to tell her more.
“It fed off my magic as I tried to attack it to free myself. It consumed my power and then me. It tasted my blood. And then used its fire magic on me. I watched my skin burn. I felt the heat tearing through my flesh. But even as painful as it was, my skin did not peel or blacken. It remained just as it is now.”
He hesitated, hating the images that flashed even as he kept his eyelids open. Would it never stop?
“I thought I might die. I wish I had.”
“No,” Marianne said sharply. “Never say that. Never. You stayed alive. You had no choice. Your will is too strong, and I’m glad for it. I couldn’t imagine if…”
Sage waited for Marianne to finish, but she stared off into the distance, her mind somewhere other than in this room with him.
“What?” he asked, needing to bring her back.
Marianne blinked. She turned back to him. “I couldn’t imagine losing you.”
He tried not to fool himself. That was not love shining in her glistening eyes. Well, perhaps it was love. The kind friends share. Not akin to the type of love he felt for her.
“I’m here,” Sage said, smiling to reassure her. “Perhaps not whole. I’m cursed with its blood, Marianne. It’s tainted me. That’s what Miss Green meant. She sensed its claim upon me.”
“But…how can it claim you if the creature is dead. Did you not say Julia killed it?”
“Yes.” He nodded. “I suppose it matters not if the creature is dead. Miss Green intends to help. I need to meet her at a vicarage in Highston. Will you accompany me, Marianne?”
Marianne nodded. “Of course.”
Chapter Fourteen
The vicarage at Highston was a crumbling bit of stone and mortar. It was an ancient structure and had seen better days. The church spire rose high into the night sky. Sage descended from the carriage he drove, Marianne alighting behind him.
He pushed open the church doors which creaked and groaned under the weight of years of service. Marianne crept in behind, coughing at the dust that stirred up.
“How can dust bother you? You have no substance.”
Marianne waved the dust from her face as she tried to suppress any further coughs. “There’s several things about my existence I do not understand.” She tilted her head to observe the many cobwebs hanging from the rafters. “Is it abandoned?”
“It appears so.” Sage noted the thick dust covering the fixtures. A lantern sat unused in the corner of a table. He struck flint to light it, lifting it to illuminate his way. The rows of pews stretched into the darkness, becoming visible only as he walked closer. Once at the dais, he saw what was left of the items the church used for their services.
“I don’t see anyone,” Marianne said, peering into the dark gloom surrounding them beyond the shelter of the light’s glow.
“Nor do I.”
“Perhaps we should look out of doors? She might be wandering the graveyard, searching for potential victims.” Sage sent her an irritated glance. She saw his expression and shrugged. “Is that not what demons do?”
“Along with the haunting of ghosts…”
Marianne scowled.
“Just an observation,” Sage said, his mouth lifting into a small smile. Even during this frightening time, Marianne could still make him smile.
Brilliant.
Marianne made a huffing noise and marched forward into the murky darkness. Sage followed, lifting the lantern high to illuminate her path. They found a side door. Opening the rusty hinges, creaking loudly, they found themselves outside among the buried dead.
Large and small gravestones littered the ground. Marianne picked her way about, scanning the edges of the dark. Outside the moon illuminated the area so they did not need the addition of the lantern, but Sage kept it in case they stepped farther into the wooded area behind the church.
Searching into the trees, he saw movement.
“Marianne,” he whispered to alert her. She turned toward the direction of his gaze.
A flash of red appeared beneath a hooded cloak. As the figure stepped forward, pale hands drew the hood back. Bright red hair, much like flame in the moonlight, identified Desmonda Green.
The figure at her side, they did not know.
“You are late,” Desmonda observed by way of greeting.
Sage glanced at Marianne.
“Fashionably so,” he said. “Miss Grey required a seamstress for her attire.”
Desmonda searched the space beside him, seeing nothing, she narrowed her eyes and returned her gaze to him. Sage smiled at the woman’s consternation.
“I see we have a guest,” Sage said, peering at the small unassuming man next to her.
“This is the Reverend Michael Blair,” Desmonda introduced. “He’s graciously agreed to assist us this evening.”
He was of average height, perhaps as tall as Desmonda, with mousy brown hair and spectacles. As he moved, his cloak fell opened to reveal simple garb.
Sage should be accustomed to the extraordinary, but the sight of a clergyman keeping company with a half-demon surprised him.
“How do you do?” Mr. Blair muttered, reaching out to shake Sage’s hand in greeting.
The tingle Sage felt upon contact surprised him, too.
“You’re not quite human, are you?”
Mr. Blair flushed and sent Desmonda a quick glance. He cleared his throat before speaking. “No. I’m a witch…of sorts.”
“A powerful sorcerer,” Desmonda added. “Though he’s shy of using his talents.”
The reverend looked away, glancing at his feet, then Sage’s feet, then the church beyond, keeping his gaze anywhere except on the faces of his companions.
“You look nervous,” Sage observed.
Mr. Blair shrugged. “Rather uncomfortable, I’m afraid. Miss Green and I have an arrangement. I’d
like to get the ceremony finished so I might get back to my parish.”
“By all means,” Sage said. “What do we need to do?”
****
The Reverend Michael Blair and Desmonda prepared while Sage and Marianne stood back, watching. They each carried a pouch of white chalky dust which they sprinkled over the ground where they deemed a proper circle could be held. The graves of the dead littered the area, but none interfered with their movements. Desmonda said they needed the power of the dead for this spell. The way she spoke sent shivers along Sage’s back, but he nodded in compliance. What could he do to argue, after all?
They created symbols on the dirt with their dust, sprinkling heavily over there, lighter here, until many strange designs covered a large area. After that, they closed the circle around the symbols.
Michael clapped his hands together, dust from his fingers puffing into his face until he choked.
“That’s finished. Now, onto the next. Are you prepared?” He looked at Sage over his spectacles.
Did he have a choice? Sage shrugged his shoulders and nodded.
“What does he mean to do?” Marianne whispered from his side.
“I’ve no bloody idea,” Sage whispered back.
“I need to know your connection to the demon,” Michael said a moment later as he gingerly approached Sage. He took his spectacles off to wipe the sweat beading on his brow. “How did you meet? What did it do? That sort of thing.”
Sage’s face remained impassive, but with a glance at Desmonda and Marianne, he turned back to Michael.
“I’d rather not speak of it.”
Desmonda stepped forward. “He needs to know certain details in order to perform the ceremony correctly.”
Sage’s brow arched. “No.”
“Anything at all. Can you describe it? I cannot imagine it obliged you by giving its name. That would be too easy by far. But any pertinent details would be a blessing.”
“Pertinent details?” Sage repeated.
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