“We found vampires,” I answered evasively. “I’ll tell you all about it in the morning.”
“Sure.” Her nose wrinkled. “By the way, you stink.”
I was sure I did. “The shower is my next stop.”
Not waiting for her reply, I hurried into my bedroom, but I wasn’t ready to shower and collapse into bed yet. My plain desk was stacked with books about Demonica, and I shifted the piles to uncover a title that predated my obsession with the darkest magic of the mythic world.
The Complete Compilation of Arcane Cantrips, the book that had sparked my fascination with magic. I searched through the pages, and when I couldn’t find what I wanted, I shook it by the spine. The pages flapped and a single white sheet, folded in half, fell out.
Grabbing the paper, I dropped into my chair and unfolded it. The grainy photocopy displayed a single page of the Athanas grimoire, the paper dark with age, the handwritten ink faded. Greek letters scrawled across most of it, but in the bottom corner was an illustration.
It was a drawing of Zylas, or a demon that looked very similar to him.
I ran my finger across the Ancient Greek writing, then pulled out a scrap of paper and a pencil. Lower lip caught between my teeth, I studied the first line of the page—a title. I scribbled across my scrap page before firing up my laptop to check a suffix.
The final word stumped me until I realized it wasn’t a word. It was a name.
The Twelfth House – Vh’alyir
I gulped against the cold shiver creeping up my spine. My attention shifted to the short paragraph below the title. I copied the lines onto my scrap paper, identifying the clauses, cases, pronouns, conjunctions, root words, and anything else I could pick out. My pencil scribbled urgently, then my fingers zipped across my keyboard, looking up the words I didn’t know. I scrawled a new line, honing the translation.
A few minutes later, I sat back in my chair and lowered my pencil. I couldn’t tear my eyes off my careful printing, staring at the result, wondering if I’d messed up the translation.
But I’d made no mistake.
Never summon from the Twelfth House. For the trespass of this sacred covenant, the sons of Vh’alyir will destroy you.
Chapter Fourteen
Was I blushing again? I pressed my inner wrist to my warm cheek. Yep, I was blushing again.
What was wrong with me?
Grimacing, I sank my hands into the soapy water and resumed scrubbing a mixing bowl. The counter was piled with dirty dishes—bowls, measuring cups, spoons, baking sheets—and the heavenly smell of apple cinnamon pie hung in the air like a delicious cloud.
My gaze trailed to my left and I commanded myself not to look. I looked anyway.
Zylas was sprawled across the living room sofa. On the plate beside him, what had been a stack of a dozen mini apple pies, their tops sprinkled with a cinnamon and sugar crumble, was almost gone—only two left. He’d shed his armor, which he only did when he was feeling particularly relaxed, and the overcast light streaking through the windows bathed the reddish-toffee skin of his bare torso. His head was reclined on the armrest, face pointed toward the light, eyes closed.
Embarrassment twinged through my center and I pointed my hot face at the sink again. I was so lame. He wasn’t stammering and blushing every time he looked my way. I’d been hypothermic, and he’d warmed me up. Big deal. I couldn’t have been more awkward about this if I’d grown up in the Antarctic with penguins for company.
But I really wished Zylas hadn’t picked today to lounge around the living room with half his garments missing—and he didn’t even wear much clothing to begin with. Then again, I supposed it was my own doing. I’d baked for him.
Movement out of the corner of my eye had me snatching my hands from the dishwater. I dove out of the kitchen and scooped Socks up by her furry tummy.
“No, little kitty,” I cooed. “Stay out of the living room. There’s a scary demon in there.”
She mewled in complaint as I set her down in the kitchen by my feet. She was finally eating well, so I’d let her out of her crate to explore the apartment. For most of the morning, she’d lurked in my bedroom, but her confidence was growing.
Eyes half-lidded, Zylas watched me rescue the kitten. Yawning—and flashing his pointed canines—he reached for another mini pie. Crumbs scattered across the rug as he broke it in half and shoved a piece in his mouth. He crunched it once, then swallowed it down in a single gulp.
I shook my head. Chew your food.
He didn’t acknowledge my loud thought, but I felt his annoyed stare on my back. Smirking only because he couldn’t see it, I resumed washing dishes, stopping every few minutes to scoop Socks off the floor and move her out of the living room before she got too close to Zylas. Whenever she crept into his line of sight, his crimson eyes turned toward her.
As I worked, my thoughts drifted to last night’s translation of the grimoire page. The sons of Vh’alyir will destroy you.
“Zylas,” I said impulsively. “What’s your House name?”
He cracked his eyes open. “Hnn?”
“Your House name. Is it Vh’alyir?”
“Not valyeeer,” he grumbled. “Vuh-al-yer.”
I carefully repeated the sounds. “So your full name is Zylas Vh’alyir?”
“Zylas et Vh’alyir.” He indulged in another languid yawn, seemingly unbothered by my new knowledge or where it had come from. “But I am usually called Dīnen et Vh’alyir.”
An odd shiver whispered over me. King of Vh’alyir. Before being summoned out of his world, he’d ruled his House and all demons who belonged to it—or that’s what I was guessing, based on his vague comments.
“What are the other House names?”
“Na, so many,” he complained lazily. “Lūsh’vēr, Dh’irath, Gh’reshēr, Ash’amadē …”
I choked in disbelief. Demon names were worth millions of dollars and he was casually listing them off. Though, come to think of it, summoning required the name’s proper spelling. I could barely pronounce the names, let alone spell them.
“They are the first …” He frowned. “I do not know the word. First rank? They are close in strength. Next four Houses are second rank. Last four are third rank.”
And Vh’alyir, as the Twelfth House, was at the very bottom in both rank and power.
“How did you become the Vh’alyir king?” I asked.
“I am oldest.” He gazed thoughtfully at the last mini pie, then tipped his face toward the light again. “Oldest survivor is Dīnen.”
Did that mean all the demons of his House were younger than him? Setting the last bowl in the drain tray, I grabbed a towel and dried my hands. “For a demon, are you young or old?”
“I am …” He scrunched his nose. “I have less years than the other Dīnen. Why so many questions, drādah?”
I lifted my hand to adjust my glasses, only to remember I’d lost them. I was wearing contacts instead. “How long have you been Dīnen?”
“Some time.”
Not helpful. I gave up on that line of questioning. “What does being a Dīnen involve? What do you have to do?”
He rolled onto his back, resting one leg on the sofa’s back cushions. “Too much to explain. Go away.”
I rolled my eyes. “I live here. I’m not going away.”
“Then be quiet.”
Such a friendly, polite demon. I caught Socks as she tried to sneak past me and carried her into my room. I set her beside the window, hoping the view outside would distract her, then returned to the sofa and peered down at Zylas with my hands on my hips—working hard to ignore his bare, muscular torso.
He squinted one eye open. I parted my lips, ready to fire off another question about demon kings.
“Your face is changing color,” he noted.
My hands flew to my cheeks and my gaze darted to his bare chest. I stumbled back a step, bumping the coffee table. He observed my reaction with a calculating gleam in his eyes that I didn’t like.
I hast
ily pointed at the last mini pie. “Hurry up and eat that. I want to wash the plate.”
He plucked the pie off the dish, but before he could take a bite, his jaw popped open in yet another wide, sleepy yawn—giving me a fantastically unwanted view of the inside of his mouth. No manners at all, but he was a demon, so I couldn’t really expect him to—
I blinked down at his face as he finished his yawn. Then I pounced.
He yipped in surprise when I grabbed his jaw.
“Hold up,” I said breathlessly as I tried to open his mouth. “Let me see.”
“What?” He twisted away. “No—”
As he spoke, his mouth opened enough for me to hook my fingers over his sharp teeth. “I want to look. It’ll only take—”
“Geh awh!” he slurred around my fingers, holding his mini pie clear as he pushed me away with his other hand.
I put a knee on his chest to hold him down and pried his jaw open. Leaning over his face, I peered into his mouth.
He shoved me off the sofa.
I landed on the floor with a thud but barely noticed the jarring impact. “You don’t have molars!”
He clamped his mouth shut and glowered at me.
“Well, okay, you have molars,” I corrected excitedly. “But they’re pointed like a cat’s, not flat like a human’s. You can’t actually grind up food. That’s why you never chew anything properly!”
“Dilēran,” he muttered under his breath. “Adairedh’nā id sūd, ait eshathē kartismā dilēran.”
I beamed, too delighted that I finally had an explanation for one of his strange quirks to let his insults annoy me.
Amalia’s bedroom door swung open. She stuck her head out and scowled at us. “What are you two freaks doing out here?”
“He doesn’t chew food properly because his molars are the wrong shape.”
She pulled a disgusted face. “Were you looking into his mouth? That’s gross.”
I shrugged. “It was for science.”
Zylas looked between us, eyes narrowed. Then, as though to make a point, he folded his mini pie in half, shoved the entire thing in his mouth, and swallowed it whole.
“Any progress?” I asked her.
“Define progress,” she replied drily, leaning against the doorframe and flipping her long blond ponytail off her shoulder. “I heard back from three of my stepmom’s relatives and they all claimed to have no clue where she is. Then I threatened to blackmail them. They still denied it, but I got four more numbers to call, including her former lawyer. I left a message with the lawyer’s office and I’m waiting to hear back from the others.”
“So … nothing,” I concluded.
“Nothing at all. Oh, but I’ve started asking around about Claude. No one seems to know him, but I’ll keep trying.”
She retreated into her room. Deciding to leave Zylas alone, I scooped up Socks before she could sneak under the coffee table and returned to the kitchen. Zylas tracked my withdrawal, then leaned back into the sofa. As I dried and put away dishes, his eyes slid closed again. Even annoyed with me, he was too lazy today to do anything about it.
Smiling to myself, I dried the baking sheet. How did you take a demon’s edge off? Why, simply feed him a dozen small apple pies.
It wasn’t that my home-baked offerings softened his mood. I suspected it was physiological. By my best guess, sugar wasn’t a significant part of a demon’s diet, and large quantities of sweet desserts made him sleepy. I’d used that knowledge to my advantage several times over the past few weeks.
Finishing in the kitchen, I collected my photocopy of the grimoire, scrap paper, and my laptop. Since Zylas was hogging the sofa, I sat on the floor, set up my stuff on the coffee table, and started translating the next paragraph of the grimoire page. Zylas dozed, his tail hanging off the cushions and the barbed end flicking in a relaxed way. I scribbled on my page, working through several sentences, all of them describing the generalities of a Vh’alyir demon’s appearance. Nothing shocking like the warning to never summon a Twelfth House demon.
Zylas didn’t know why, before him, no demon of his House had ever been summoned, or I would’ve asked if he knew what that warning meant. I pondered it again, then resumed translating the rest of the page. From Amalia’s room, the muffled hum of her sewing machine started up. She hadn’t cracked a single Demonica text since leaving her father’s house; instead, she devoted her free time to sewing projects—her custom-designed “hex clothes”—though I hadn’t seen a finished garment yet.
The afternoon slid by, the dull monotony of Ancient Greek translation a nice change after yesterday’s near-death adventure. The heavy overcast broke, allowing a rare return of December’s elusive sun. I shifted around the coffee table so the golden light could warm my face, my back to the sofa. Zylas’s hickory-and-leather scent teased my nose as I worked. Socks wandered into the middle of the room and sprawled in a sunny spot, her black fur gleaming.
As I puzzled over an unfamiliar word with my pencil poised above my notes, an unexpected realization slid through me: I felt content.
I lowered my pencil, my brow wrinkling. Behind me, Zylas’s slow breathing was a quiet rhythm. Every few minutes, Amalia’s sewing machine would whir energetically, then stop. Sprawled in the sun, Socks rolled onto her back, furry tail swishing.
This was the most peaceful I’d felt since my parents’ deaths.
Tears clung to my eyelashes. Sniffing back a sob, I rose quietly and hurried into the bathroom. I blew my nose, dried my eyes, and smiled weakly at my reflection. It was okay to feel content. I could miss them and find my way toward a new happiness at the same time.
Opening the door, I paused.
Socks had left her sunny spot on the carpet. She now stood on the back of the sofa, her huge green eyes on the napping demon. Her tail flicked back and forth. Crouching, she cautiously stretched out a paw.
The kitten booped the demon on the nose.
His eyes snapped open. Socks cocked her head, ears perked forward, and lightly batted at his hair. He observed the kitten with that predatory stillness that always unnerved me. Socks hopped onto the armrest and stretched out her neck, whiskers twitching forward.
He finally moved—lifting his arm, reaching for the kitten. I tensed, certain he was about to shove poor little Socks right off the sofa.
He brushed his fingers across the top of her head. She inched closer, eagerly smelling the strange creature sharing her new domain, and he stroked her delicate ear like he’d never seen such a thing before.
A visceral memory hit me: Zylas gripping my wrist in one hand while he carefully traced my fingers. The first time he had touched me—first time he had touched any human. Curiosity had motivated his gentle touch—right up until he’d dragged me into the summoning circle and asked what my blood looked like.
Before I could decide if I should rescue Socks, the muffled trill of a ringing phone broke the quiet. Socks hopped off the sofa and Zylas looked toward Amalia’s room.
“Hello? Oh, yeah … Okay … Sure, I’ll let her know.”
Her door opened. Amalia scanned the living room and spotted me. She waved her cell.
“Is your phone dead? That was Zora. She’s been trying to reach you.”
My phone was in my room … on silent. Oops. “What did she say?”
“She wants you to meet her at the guild. She’s got an update on the vampires.”
An update? Maybe, finally, we could get somewhere with all this. “Then I’d better get going.”
Chapter Fifteen
I pushed open the guild door and a wave of conversation rolled out, followed by the aroma of hot French fries and spicy chicken wings. A dozen people were scattered throughout the pub, sitting at the tables in twos and threes, eating food or chatting casually.
A few faces were familiar: the assistant guild master, her brown hair sticking to her face as she rushed behind the bar; Girard, the first officer, poring over papers with a middle-aged man I didn’t know; a short, sk
inny young man with round sunglasses, looking at something on his phone; and the elderly diviner Rose, easy to spot with her turquoise eyeglasses and pink knitted cap.
The diviner gestured me toward her table, beaming eagerly, but I pretended to misunderstand and merely waved. As intriguing as my first crystal ball séance had been, I wasn’t in the mood for another one.
The door behind me swung open, chiming loudly. Zora grinned as she entered the pub. “Good timing! Let’s sit.”
I followed her to a table in the corner and she shrugged off her coat, revealing a black corset-style top that laced up at the front. I instantly wanted one, even though I’d never be brave enough to wear something like that.
“No glasses yet?” she asked, sounding guilty.
“I put in an order but it takes a few days.” I blinked against the uncomfortable dryness in my eyes. “I’m wearing contacts.”
“Oh, good. I was worried you’d have to go around half blind until you got new glasses.” She dug into her jacket and pulled out a folded map. “Let’s get to it.”
She spread the map across the table. Vancouver’s downtown was unmistakable, and red and purple marker highlighted two dozen locations, most of them clustered around the downtown core, with a few outliers in Gastown, Chinatown, and Yaletown.
“Felix did his magic with the vamp’s phone,” Zora said, smiling at her pun. “The vampires called the same number three or four times a night for the past two weeks. Felix narrowed down an address—we think it’s this building right here.”
She poked at a blue circle only a few blocks from the big downtown library.
“Is it an office building?” I asked. “That seems like a strange place for vampires.”
“I thought so too, but it turns out the building has been closed for renovations for almost a year now.” She arched an eyebrow. “Prime vamp real estate.”
I nodded.
“These other marks are the locations of all the exterminations performed over the past six weeks by local guilds. Thirty-six vamps in total. In comparison, the total vampires exterminated in the six months prior to this was thirty-two.”
Slaying Monsters for the Feeble: The Guild Codex: Demonized / Two Page 12
