by Sara DeHaven
Bree knew she was naive in a lot of ways, but that thought had occurred to her after Leander admitted he'd been in the Keltoi. "If that's the case, isn't asking him how to find Varga a risk? That'd give Varga exactly the heads up you don't want him to have."
"If I wasn't in a hurry, I wouldn't do it that way," Daniel admitted. "And hopefully, the finding spell will work and I won't have to go that route. I'm not an idiot, Bree, I know this is a dangerous course of action. I'm just going to have to trust that I can get out of the situation if Varga does cheat. I've gotten out of plenty of bad circumstances on my own before."
Bree dug deep for some kind of calm, and a memory came to her from last year, when Kevin had told her that Daniel's risk tolerance was so high that she'd be far more likely to influence him by expressing her caring than by trying to work on his fears. "I can't lose you," she said quietly.
His breathing became harsh, then he whispered, "I just got my shit back together. Don't talk to me about that."
Her heart clenched in fear. "Okay," she answered.
"If the hiding spell fails, I'll let you know, and you can contact Leander and ask him if he knows how to locate Varga." Daniel replied hoarsely, then he hung up.
Leander regarded Marton warily. He didn’t know what had the man in such a crappy mood. Hadn’t almost all his plans gone down as he wanted? At least, Leander was moderately sure Marton was the ultimate brains behind all those bombings. Maybe it irked him that it was the L.A. one that hadn’t gone off, the one his home clan was supposed to take care of. Normally, he would have pushed back at the kind of pressure Marton was putting on him. Not tonight, not with Marton’s mouth set in that grim line.
“Honestly, Marton, I don’t know why I seem to have lost my in with Bree. Maybe she had some kind of accident. Or maybe she knew somebody that got killed in the bombing and that has her distracted. Or maybe….” He hesitated, glancing at Franchesca. She was wandering around his living room, running her hand along a lampshade, fingering an inlaid box, and generally being restless in a way that would have read to him as possession even if his Demonsense hadn’t already tipped him off that she had a demon on board. She was dressed in a form fitting black blouse with a v-neck surrounded by stiff little ruffles, black pants, and for a change, flats instead of heels. Her curly black hair was loose down her back, and blood colored garnet pendant earrings and a garnet necklace gleamed richly against her skin. If he didn’t detest her, Leander would have said she looked stunning.
“Maybe what?” Marton prompted as he leaned back on the couch and crossed one ankle over his knee. He was dressed formally as well, in a black suit with a dark blue dress shirt and a blue and black tie.
“Maybe she got back together with Thorvaldson. Then she wouldn’t be interested in me anymore. To be honest, that would be my top guess. It’s the only thing that might have her reluctant to return my calls.”
That had gotten Franchesca’s attention. “I seriously doubt Daniel would go back to her,” she scoffed. “He was always completely out of her league.”
“You didn’t see them together at that St. Patrick’s Day party. Thorvaldson still has it bad for her. It was my read that it was actually her that was holding back.” It was the truth, but Leander couldn’t help but enjoy how Franchesca’s eyes narrowed in anger.
“So what’s your play?” Marton asked pointedly.
“The only play I have left is getting into her crowd as a friend, if she’s with Thorvaldson now. And that play is going to take a hell of a long time to make good, weeks, at this rate,” Leander answered, trying to control his irritation. “If you’re really on such a time line, maybe you’d better come up with Plan B.”
“Getting Thorvaldson’s hiding spell is Plan B. Plan A doesn’t call for it, and has a good chance of working, but there’s a more certain outcome if I have it.”
“I thought it was all about the timing issue, why you were in such a hurry. Damn it Marton, if you hadn’t rushed things, we wouldn’t be in this position right now. Playing it slower would have worked much better with Bree.”
Marton’s eyes had been following Franchesca around the room as he spoke, but he gave Leander a hard look then. “I’m not saying the timing isn’t still important. It is, or I wouldn’t be pushing you. When have I ever micromanaged you like this, eh? I wouldn’t be here tonight at all if it wasn’t still important.”
Leander was getting itchy with Franchesca wandering around behind him, small noises following her as she continued to brazenly poke into his things. He heard her open a drawer behind him and rustle around in it. “Yeah, you keep telling me its important. So what is this big master plan anyway? I get that it’s about politics, but what does it really buy us, getting some Keltoi into office? Better trading rights for the legitimate side of the business or something equally boring? I just can’t see going to all the trouble to start a demon war and set bombs off all over the country over a couple of elections.”
“You’ve never been interested in the big picture before, why do you want to know now?” Marton challenged. His voice was getting tight, and Leander’s Reader sense snapped on in an automatic defensive reaction. He knew Marton enough that he didn’t really need it. He’d already registered that Marton was in short fuse mode, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself from pushing further.
“I don’t know, maybe because I’d like to think I'm risking pissing you the hell off, fatally, for some larger goal. Not to mention that you're putting me in the way of the demon burned Keeper from hell. He's already suspicious of me, and if he cops to what I'm up to, my chances of survival are pretty much zero.” Leander had surprised himself with his answer, and with the anger that it revealed. Marton had put him in harm's way plenty of times before. Why was it pissing Leander off so much now?
Marton didn't say anything, but a small, fierce smile came and went on his face.
Leander felt some pieces start to settle into place. “You’ve got something else up your sleeve you don’t want the other clan leaders to know. Come on, spill.”
“As if he’d tell you,” Franchesca’s voice came from behind him. There was the slightest demon buzz to it, and Leander's shoulders tensed up.
“Oh, and I suppose you know all about it, because you’re so together, so reliable. Naturally you’re the first person Marton would tell,” Leander returned sarcastically.
“There’s no doubt I know more than you, you little prick.”
Leander was not amused. “You haven’t seriously told that demon-burned harpy your big plan,” he said looking incredulously at Marton.
“She helped me make it,” Marton said shortly. “You underestimate her. You always have.”
Franchesca came back into view. She moved to stand next to the couch and put a possessive hand on Marton’s shoulder. There was a pinprick of orange demon light in her eyes, and Leander’s Demonsense gave him a kick. “Jesus Christ, can’t you tone it down?” he asked irritably. “The whole scary possessed chick thing is just not working for me.”
“How very unfortunate that you’re frightened of possession. It’s sad that you’ll always be stuck at the outer edges of the clan because of it,” Franchesca replied silkily.
The barb struck home, and Leander started to become really angry. Marton had given him a very hard time when he’d asked not to host any more demons five years ago, making essentially the same point Franchesca was making now. His reluctance made him look weak to the other Keltoi, including Marton. “On the plus side,” he rejoined hotly, “at least I get to keep all my marbles. You, on the other hand, aren’t going to last another year at the rate you’re getting burned.”
“This bickering is pointless,” Marton said shortly. “Back to the subject at hand. You’re certain you have lost your in with Bree?”
With an effort, Leander focused back on Marton. “If she’s not with Thorvaldson, I still have a chance.”
“When we read Daniel this morning, he didn’t read like a man in love,” Franchesca said. “You’re wro
ng about him being with Bree.”
“You read Thorvaldson? Wasn’t that risky?”
Marton opened his mouth to answer, but Franchesca responded first.
“Daniel didn’t see us, I made sure of that. Marton wanted to get a read on him for himself. I’m not sure he truly believed me about Daniel. He does now.”
“Believe what?”
“That Daniel could take him.”
Tension coiled up inside Leander like a snake. The crazy bitch was playing with fire if she was baiting Marton. Marton affected a cool look, but Leander’s Reader sense picked up the tightening of muscles on his thighs and shoulders. “He is high power, true enough,” Marton said coolly. “And battle tested from being a Keeper. It might be a fight if it ever came down to that. But I have certain advantages.”
Leander thought Marton must be referring to his above average ability to sustain a possession without taking much damage. “Are you expecting a fight with Thorvaldson?”
“It’s more that I’m assessing options for taking and holding him if you can’t get the information I need in the usual way.”
“You know, Scanlon said something that made sense to me. He thought any information you get by force from Thorvaldson isn’t likely to be reliable."
“If only you would let me question him!” Franchesca exclaimed, the orange light in her eyes brightening. “I know him better than anyone, I could get him to talk.”
“Oh yeah, just like you did last time, what a great success that was,” Leander shot back. “Seriously, Franchesca, when are you going to accept that Thorvaldson doesn’t love you anymore? It’s pathetic, the way you keep looking for some excuse to get back into his life.”
Franchesca’s face twisted in rage, and with a sweep of one hand, she hurled a casting that flung the lamp on the table into him, clipping his shoulder and hitting the side of his face. He batted it off him, surging to his feet. Marton put out a hand to grab Franchesca, but she backed away from him. She waved her hand again, and the room started to spin for Leander as the dizziness spell took hold. He stumbled painfully into the coffee table, then into the chair behind him. “Franchesca, that’s enough,” he heard Marton say, but Franchesca was too far gone.
As Leander’s vision started to steady, he could see the hard light in her eyes that told him the demon riding her was getting the upper hand. She snatched up the empty bottle of beer that Leander had left sitting on the coffee table earlier and hit it against the table's edge, breaking it and sending shards to spray over Marton.
Franchesca sprang at Leander, jagged edge of the bottle descending toward his face.
God, not the face! Leander thought as he desperately threw himself over the side of the chair to land in a heap next to it. The bottle came down where he’d been sitting, tearing the white leather. The bottle caught in it, giving Leander the precious seconds he needed to scramble backwards like a crab, out of her immediate reach. “Jesus, Marton, banish the fucking demon before it kills me!” he shouted. Franchesca whirled to face Marton, who was just standing up. “Do not banish me!” she screeched, spittle flying from her mouth. She went to jab at Marton with the bottle, but with a flick of his fingers, Marton produced a perfectly aimed, perfectly timed telekinetic spell that tore the bottle from her grasp. It flew over Leander’s head and smashed into the mirror on the wall behind him, breaking it.
Leander barely got out of the way in time to avoid being impaled by a foot long mirror shard. With swiping hand motion, Marton cast again, this time sending a freeze spell against Franchesca. It took hold, but apparently not before Franchesca had cast back, because Marton’s legs went out from under him in what looked like a muscle weakening spell.
Leander belatedly pulled up a ward around himself and backed away further, toward the dining room, where he planned to arm himself with a chair.
“Demon, I command you, be gone!” Marton growled from his place on the floor.
Franchesca’s eyes rolled back in her head as the demon howled defiance. Her body started to twitch as she fought the freeze spell, and Leander glanced worriedly at Marton. Why wasn’t the demon gone already? Marton was quite high power as a Demon Master. The demon possessing Franchesca must be bigger than he’d thought.
Marton started to climb carefully to his feet as the weakening spell wore off. His face was stiff with anger. “You will obey me, demon!” he grated.
Leander’s Demonsense rushed to a peak, strong enough to make him gasp. Suddenly, he got it. That energy dampening spell for demons that Marton had told him about. Franchesca’s demon had been using it, but it had clearly let it go, because it was all too obvious now that it was a full blown Erekim. It wasn’t so much that Leander could tell one demon from another in the normal course of things, but he knew that it was one of the biggest, nastiest hits to his Demonsense that he’d ever felt.
Marton obviously sensed it too, because he said, “God damn it, woman, I told you not to call that one, it’s too strong for you!”
Franchesca’s muscles bunched and twitched as she continued to strain against the freeze spell. It wasn’t going to hold much longer. Leander tentatively picked up a chair. Should he hit her with it, knock her down? Would it even help?
Marton shook his head, closed his eyes, and intoned, “Felakim, I call you! Felakim, I command you!” It seemed to take forever before the orange and red cloud started pouring into the room, but once it came, it quickly morphed into the form of a winged, heavy breasted, green scaled sphinx with orange eyes, a flat, slitted nose, and very long teeth. Before the demon could speak, Marton commanded, “Possess me!” The demon spread her wings, head thrown back in a hiss of delight as her form dissolved back into vapor and entered Marton.
This was the demon Marton had some affinity for. It was rare for demons to take female shape, but this one always did. He had little time to speculate on whether he ought to cut and run at this point, because the freeze spell broke just as the orange light rose in Marton’s eyes.
Franchesca threw herself onto Marton, scratching at his face. Marton’s hands shot out and he capture first one, then another of her wrists, but not before her nails raked a path down one of his cheeks.
“Demon, you will obey! Depart!” Marton demanded.
Franchesca’s eyes widened, her mouth rounded in either shock or pain as the demon possessing her rushed out of her in a stream of red and gold smoke, then vanished. Franchesca wilted, and with more force than was necessary, Marton deposited her on the couch. She was out cold, one leg awkwardly bent, hair half obscuring her face.
Leander abruptly realized he was still holding the chair out in front of him like a lion tamer. He set it down, and dropped his ward with a huff of effort. As he half turned to scoot the chair back under the dining table, he said, “My god, that bitch is crazy! I don’t know what you keep her around for.”
He was completely unprepared when Marton took three long strides toward him and punched him in the face.
“What the fuck was that for?” Leander cried as staggered back, clutching at his face with one hand, the other extended towards Marton in an instinctively defensive posture.
Marton’s hand shot out and grabbed Leander hard by the arm, fingers digging in. His eyes were blazing, though Leander could see no sign of the orange demon mark in them. He was completely in control of his demon. “You had to push and push until you set her off. This is your fault.”
In spite of his fear, Leander was outraged enough to talk back. “It’s my fault that she’s demon burned? That she doesn’t have enough sense to avoid calling demons she can’t handle?” Marton’s hand tightened further, and even though he knew it would only anger Marton further, Leander pulled against Marton’s grip. Marton pulled back, dragging Leander forward until his face was inches away from Marton’s.
“You have made me very unhappy tonight, little brother. I begin to wonder if you’re more trouble than you’re worth.”
All the fight drained out of Leander at Marton’s tone. It
wasn’t just that weird burr of demon, it was that Leander heard his death in it. It had happened before, just once, when he’d been seventeen. Marton had beaten him so badly he’d broken his arm, his collarbone, and two of his ribs.
Marton could so easily kill him here and now. What casting Leander knew wouldn’t stand a chance against Marton, even when he wasn’t possessed. He looked into Marton’s eyes, looking to see if this was his time. Their gaze held for four long beats of Leander’s heart before Marton thrust him away.
Marton ran his hands over the sides of his dark hair, smoothing it into place. “God, what a cluster fuck,” he said on a sigh. That fast, his mood shifted. Leander allowed himself to breath again. “We’ll be lucky if someone hasn’t called the cops.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” Leander answered weakly.
“Start cleaning things up. If they show, we don’t want there to be evidence of a fight.”
Leander managed to stop himself from snarling, Besides my face, you mean.
Marton went and bent over Franchesca, who was already starting to sit up, one hand to her head. Marton sat next to her and put an arm around her shoulders.
She shrugged him off roughly and scooted away from him. “Leave me alone,” she rasped.
Marton’s hand snaked out and caught in Franchesca’s hair. He pulled on it, hard, jerking her head towards him. “I told you not to call that demon,” he told her.
“It would have been fine if Leander hadn’t baited me like that,” she said sullenly. Marton shook her a little more by her hair, then released her. “I told you to clean up,” he said to Leander over his shoulder.
Leander lost no time finding a broom and dustpan. He hauled his garbage can out from under the sink and dragged it into the living room. He started picking up the larger pieces of glass and mirror he could find one at a time.
There was an uncomfortable silence as he worked. It jangled at his nerves that Marton just sat there watching him. And his Demonsense was still worked up from all the demon contact, which just added to his jittery tension. He wished to God Marton would send his demon back where it came from. Marton might think he had total control of it, but Leander couldn’t help but remember that Marton had been possessed that time he’d beaten him so badly.
