Demon's Cradle (Devany Miller Book 3)

by Ponce, Jen

  “Thanks for getting them breakfast.”

  Arsinua nodded, putting the breakfast dishes into the dishwasher.

  “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell my brother I’m a demon.”

  She fumbled the cup she was holding and almost dropped it. “He wanted to know more about what was going on.”

  “And you told him your side of things.”

  She plunked the cup onto the tray and shot me a glare. “It’s the only side of things I have to share. You don’t see me asking you not to tell your duallie things about me, do you?”

  “His name is Kroshtuka, not duallie. I’m not asking you to stop talking to him. I’m asking you not to turn him against me.”

  “Devany, I’m telling him what I see. If that turns him against you, then perhaps there’s something wrong with what’s going on.” She slid the spatula around the pancake pan and dumped crumbs into the trash. Her movements were short and sharp. She was angry. Well good. I was angry too.

  “I’m going to be late for work, but Arsinua, if you don’t like what’s going on, maybe you need to go.”

  Her face paled but she didn’t look at me and didn’t answer.

  ***

  I drove to work on autopilot, trying to figure out how to fix things with my brother, or at least explain things in a way that would help him understand what was going on—from my point of view. Perhaps I could call Ann and ask her to talk to him, but figured that would only make things worse. Travis thought Ann was a kook; having her on my side in this argument would only hurt me. Maybe it would be better if Travis and Arsinua got their own place

  The parking lot was full and when I spotted our executive director’s car I groaned. I’d forgotten about the staff meeting. Kristina, our new receptionist, made a face when I walked in. “Meeting in support group room. ASAP.”

  “Thanks.” I made a quick detour to my office space to stow my purse and coat, glad that it was Friday and I had a whole week’s worth of vacation starting officially at five o’clock today. I’d thought about canceling it after Tom was murdered—we had planned to take an adults-only trip together, leaving the kids with Tom’s parents—but I’d forgotten until the reminder came up on my work calendar. All I had to do now was survive this meeting …

  The support group room was packed with both staff from our facility and our sister program, the rape crisis center from across town. I squeezed in beside Naomi Walters, whispering a greeting. She and I had trained together years ago. She had chosen to work with rape victims and I with domestic violence victims.

  “We need to make plans to go out, girl,” she whispered back. She tapped her phone with one long nail and I grinned.

  “I’ll call. Life’s been busy.”

  She one-arm hugged me. She’d shown up for Tom’s funeral, though with all the mess I’d been going through with Tom’s death plus the troubles of Midia spilling out onto my plate, I hadn’t really talked to her. I made a decision to call her that weekend. No matter what.

  Our boss, Mac Douglas, cleared his throat to gain our attention, then rapped lightly on the table with his knuckles. When all eyes were on him, he said, “We’re having this meeting today for two reasons. Danni Crawford called this morning to request a leave of absence and to warn us all about her abuser.”

  I sat up in my seat. I understood why Danni thought she had to stay away from work, but I hated that her ex had already altered her life, just by the mere mention of his name. It stunk.

  We brainstormed ways for all staff to stay safe, including keeping the doors locked and asking the OPD to keep an eye on our offices. Pictures of Harrison were passed around and posted. That done, Mac shifted the paperwork in front of him and then handed stapled packets around the table. “This is a copy of our current budget.”

  I took one and passed the rest on, my eyes scanning the numbers. A frown pulled my eyebrows together. A glance at my coworkers returned the same expressions.

  “As you can see, we will soon be experiencing a budgetary shortfall because we were not awarded the LDV grant again this year. In order to keep both programs open, we’re going to have to figure out how to save money throughout our operations. The board and I have been discussing these issues, and we thought it would be best to bring the problem to everyone, so there would be more brains on it. If we change nothing else, we will be forced to cut staff by forty percent by June at the latest.”

  The air went out of the room as if his words had punched it. For a moment we all sat stunned and staring, calculating which ones of us would be seeing our last days as advocates.

  “I don’t think we will end up in such dire straits and there are some proposed actions we may be able to take that will reduce the percentage of staff laid off. Why don’t you all turn to page two so that we can look at some of the proposed solutions.”

  The rest of the meeting was a blur of desperation and depression. I wasn’t sure if he’d announced the forty percent number at the beginning to make the other propositions sound better or what, but all it had done was stun everyone into silence. He left us with several proposals, each one as painful as the last. I couldn’t even be assured I would keep my job. There were over sixty percent of staff who’d been working either at Caring Shelter or Sisters United for longer than I. Unless we were able to implement some of the other changes, I would be hunting for new employment.

  ***

  Work was ... work. Worse, it was busy. Usually I welcomed the client-packed days, since they were rewarding and they went fast. Today though, with the other news and everything else going on, anger slowly crept inside me and grew, consuming the stories of abuse until I fairly vibrated with emotion. Taking in stories of horror had a marked impact on those who did this work. Some of us grew cynical, some emotionally withdrawn, some so traumatized that quitting was the only option. I’d often felt helpless when someone came in with a bruise, a scar, or a shaking hand and wept. Or worse, sat trembling, their bodies curved in defeat. I offered support, encouragement, a tissue when needed, but couldn’t take away the pain, and certainly couldn’t improve their situation by myself.

  Interference would just push the survivor away or create a worse situation. I knew that. People had to make their own decisions. They had to build themselves up, in order to do the hard work of getting away from an abuser. I knew that.

  There were days like today, though, when a woman sat across from me, her face destroyed by the one she’d trusted to love and cherish her, and I wished I could do more than just be there for support. Silvia’s bruises were livid, accusatory statements. Medical sutures bristled like boar’s hair from the knife wound that stretched from jaw to temple. When her cell chimed, she had to tilt her whole body in order to search through her purse, and when she finally found it, she shut it off. “He has his friends text me,” she said apologetically.

  Her husband was in jail. He’d be slightly uncomfortable for a few years of his life, while she was looking at several surgeries to repair the damage to her head. He might get off on a technicality, but she’d already been sentenced to life with the memories of his utter betrayal.

  I wanted to kill him.

  No.

  I wanted him to suffer the way his wife had suffered.

  As casually as I could, I asked, “And what is his name? We can get you signed up for VINE, which is a victim notification service. In case the worst happens and he’s released.” It had happened to Danni, after all.

  “Marco Rivera.”

  And then I had his name, where he was being held, and later, when I logged back on, I had his picture. What I would do with it, I didn’t yet know.

  ***

  I was daydreaming about manipulating the balls for the state lottery game as I slid into my car. Did they allow observers? Could I figure out the right buttons and dials in my imagination’s control room in order to pick my numbers? I’d only do it once ... or maybe twice. Enough times to assure I would never have to worry about money again—

  �
��a hand touched my shoulder and I screeched, giving the fingers a pound with my fist. Behind me, Ty cursed. “It’s just me, Devany. Lay off the violence.”

  “Lay off the—” I turned in my seat, a finger jabbing at him. “Stop popping in at me or you’re going to see what kind of violence I’m capable of.”

  He held up his hands, a grin playing on his lips. His face still looked haggard, as if he hadn’t really slept since the last time he’d shown up in my bathroom.

  “What are you doing in my car?”

  “He was annoying when he was in a body. Now that he’s inside me, he’s insufferable.”

  Jasper. I pulled out of the parking lot as Tytan climbed into the front seat, his presence beside me making the interior of my car smaller and warmer. I shifted in my seat. “How is he?”

  Tytan hooked his seatbelt and gave me a long look, designed to emphasize how much he didn’t like me asking about the soul. When I didn’t respond, he ran his fingers through his hair. “I need something to do besides exist. Otherwise I’m going to start killing people, whether or not this prick likes it.” He paused then said, “Shut up.”

  To Jasper, I presumed. “You can’t run around killing people. Why don’t you go to the Slip? Maybe clean your manse or something.” I couldn’t quite picture Tytan donning yellow rubber gloves while wielding a wet rag and spray bottle of bleach ... but then again, I kind of could. Especially if he were wearing something skimpy. Did they make French maid outfits for men?

  Realizing I was fantasizing about Ty, I shook myself and focused on the SUV in front of me. “I may have something for you to do.”

  “You?”

  I slanted a look at him. A brief one. The SUV was randomly braking and I didn’t want to end up in its backseat. “Not me.”

  “Ah, Devany. We would be so good together. So much power. We could get drunk on it.”

  His voice dropped low, and those deep vibrations had a tendency to drive me to distraction. In a good way. In a pervy way. “No.” Especially not now with Jasper inside him. It would be practically a foursome. A Skriven, a soul, a spider, and me. That would be too many observers and while I was sure some people would get a kick out of being watched, it wasn’t my thing. I didn’t think. Even if it was, I wouldn’t choose an assassin spider and pure soul as the audience. Too weird. Jasper would be disapproving and Neutria?

  Fun. Two mates better than one. Were-hyena and Skriven. Both would make strong offspring.

  I snorted.

  “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

  “You mean you aren’t spying on my thoughts?” I slowed and eased into the far right lane, unwilling to worry about the SUV’s erratic movements any more. I’d end up having to take a detour to get home, but better that than an accident.

  “He won’t let me.”

  He sounded so pissed I had to laugh. “Serves you right.”

  “I like your thoughts. They entertain me.”

  “Mmhm.”

  “So what’s this job?”

  I grabbed the picture of Danni’s ex-husband out of my purse and gave it to him. “Find this guy.” I almost wished I’d printed a picture of Marco Rivera too. He was in jail, though, and it wasn’t likely he’d be getting out any time soon—unless he got out, Harrison-style, of course.

  “Harrison Perkins.” Ty grunted. “Sounds like an asshole.”

  “That’s putting it mildly.” I watched Ty study the picture out of the corner of my eye. Danni’s ex didn’t look like a sociopath but maybe that was what made him so dangerous. He looked like a military man to me, with his shorn hair and his super serious face, like he’d seen shit I couldn’t even imagine.

  He gave the paper a toss. “Find him and then what? Sing him to sleep? Rock him in my arms and tell him stories?”

  “This guy is bad. Really bad. If you tripped and accidentally stabbed him to death, I’m not sure anyone would care.”

  His eyes slid to mine. “Jasper’s reminding me that he has a mother and father, maybe siblings.”

  I raised both eyebrows. “That wouldn’t stop the Tytan I know.” Good grief, was I saying what I was hearing myself say? I could almost feel Jasper’s disapproval.

  His lips curled into a smile. “Maybe you should join me. Become an Originator in more than just name.”

  My mind went to Danni’s face when she talked about Harrison. The way her whole body tensed. The years I knew her when she would wear over-sized clothing and jump at every sound. Harrison deserved whatever horror was coming his way and a small part of me wanted to have a hand in dealing out the agony. Except, what would that make me? “I’m sure you have more experience than I at taking care of assholes,” I said, forcing lightness into my words to distract from the temptation I felt at saying yes, I would help.

  His hand was on my knee, his fingers warm through the thin material of my dress pants. “Perhaps, but enthusiasm is as valuable as experience.”

  The tingles of desire spread away from his fingers, up my leg in sensuous tendrils. “Stop it.” He slid his hand further upward and I caught it. Dipping down into my control room, I found the input of lust and flipped a switch. The flow reversed.

  Ty cursed under his breath. I had his wrist and Neutria augmented my strength to keep him pinned. “Devany.” My name came out thick and full of desire.

  I sharpened the sensation, added something extra.

  He jerked, trying to get his hand free but I held him tight, forced more power into it. His body arched away from the seat, his fingers spasmed on mine and then his hips jerked. Jerked again. When his fingers relaxed, I let him go and waited.

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah. Not as much fun when it’s you, huh?”

  “Devany, it was fucking amazing.”

  I sighed. He wasn’t supposed to enjoy it. He was supposed to be freaked out about it, as I always was. Okay, freaked and turned on, but not by choice. “Yeah, well, don’t try it on me again, buster. Or I’ll send itchiness next time and you can spend a couple days scratching yourself silly.”

  “Such a harsh mistress,” he said, though really, he practically purred.

  “Shut up. You can find Harrison or not?”

  “I will find him. And if the opportunity presents itself, I will murder him.”

  Right. I hoped the government hadn’t ever gotten around to tapping my cell phone.

  THREE

  There wasn’t any respite when I got home. I walked past the living room to see Arsinua, Bethy, and Liam sitting together looking serious. My adrenalin spiked. “What’s wrong?” Had something happened to my brother? My dad?

  “Nothing is wrong exactly,” Arsinua started. She and my daughter exchanged glances. Bethy looked miserable and a twinge of anger thrummed through me. That was a keeping-secrets kind of look. I didn’t like it.

  “What is not exactly wrong, then?” Stay calm, Devany, I told myself. Stay calm. Don’t overreact. Chill. Easier said than done.

  “I suspected that this was happening, but I didn’t want to bring it to your attention until I knew for sure,” Arsinua said.

  I clenched my teeth together until they squeaked. Calm. “Oh?” My voice sounded strained. No blood, no broken bones. Couldn’t be too bad. Chill. “And?”

  “Mom.” Bethy stood up, pale-faced. She held out her hand, palm up. In it, or rather, hovering over it, was a tiny, glowing ball.

  I stared. Looked at Arsinua. Looked at Liam. He shrugged. I closed the gap between us and watched the orb bob above her hand. Cleared my throat. I had no idea what to say.

  “I’ve been able to move stuff for a while now, since before Dad died. You always seemed angry or busy so I didn’t say anything.”

  “Oh Bethy, I’m so sorry.” Guilt washed away the anger. Shit. She was right. “I don’t want you to feel like you can’t come to me when there’s something bothering you. Even when I’m busy or angry.” I hugged her, the tiny ball of magic she’d made snuffing out when she shut her hand. She squeezed me back, her bod
y trembling against me. Had she been so afraid to tell me? Was I that awful? “I love you, baby.”

  “I love you too.”

  I looked up at Liam. “Love you.”

  Liam nodded. Held up his hand in the sign for ‘I love you.’ Rubbed at his chin. “We remember.”

  Remember? For a moment I was lost and then I realized what he meant. “You do?”

  Bethy’s head moved against me. Liam pulled up his sleeve to look at his arm. “My veins were popping up like a body builder or something. I felt full, like I was going to explode.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I, uh, saw an arm. And some fingers. In baskets, labeled with price tags and descriptions.”

  Bethy pulled away far enough to see my face. “They wanted us to die. So they could use our parts for their magic.” Her face was pale. “They wanted us to die.”

  No, no, no. They weren’t supposed to remember. Ravana had wiped their memories. She’d told me so.

  A bitter laugh escaped me.

  Since when did I trust a damned thing a Skriven said to me?

  “That’s who killed Dad, isn’t it? Those people who took us.” Liam’s voice cracked. Puberty was setting in and every once in a while it reared its ugly head.

  I nodded. Sat on the couch because my legs just wouldn’t hold me anymore. The kids knew. The kids remembered. And they could do magic. Or at least Bethany could. Arsinua didn’t seem to hold any answers, but I asked her anyway. “Is it the heart?”

  She shrugged, looking uncomfortable with the question. But it was important to know. If the heart was leaking magic like a ruined reactor, who or what else might be changing because of it?

  “What heart?”

  I rubbed my face with my hands. This was going to get interesting. But I wasn’t about to keep them in the dark, either. They deserved to know what happened to them but explaining that would mean telling them everything. Well, almost everything.