Demon Shade (The Demons of Oxford Book 2)

by Kara Silver

  “…it’s not good for you.”

  And now she did prod him in the chest, Hard. “Don’t you dare go all Cryptic McCryptic on me again. You’d better explain. Make with the words. Now!”

  Aeth did jump. Or flinch. Whatever. It made her glad. And when he opened his mouth to explain as ordered, she felt victorious enough to do a dance, despite her thudding temples. But before Aeth got out a word, a voice came from the edge of the roof.

  “Kennedy?”

  She gawped. Tall, broad-shouldered, curls mussed by the wind—it was her not-quite-a-cousin, Tristan.

  6

  Aeth swung to Tristan and back to Kennedy. His face bore such a complex mix of emotions she couldn’t even start to analyse them. “Who’s this?” he demanded, his voice a rough grate of rock on stone.

  “I’m Tristano,” Tristan replied, eyeing Aeth.

  “No last name?” Aeth challenged.

  “Have you got a last name?” Kennedy enquired of Aeth, then stopped. “Wait. Tris, you just spoke to him…”

  Tristan frowned. “I can answer for myself, yes.”

  “No, I mean…” How to phrase it. That you can see him? Because it was the first time anybody else had addressed Aeth! None of her fellow students had spoken to him in the museum when she’d first met him. No one had conversed with him in the college cellar bar when they’d been there for the freshers’ party that had started things. No one had talked to him in the other museum practical, or in the club where they’d…almost died. She frowned. Was that right? No. Hadn’t someone— She stopped trying to recall and rubbed her thumping head.

  “People see what they want to see.” Aeth’s words, an echo of something he’d told her before, were aimed like missiles across the roof.

  “Well, this is Aethelstan,” Kennedy said, when Aeth wouldn’t, frowning at Aeth. “Tristan, Aeth. Kennedy.” She shrugged, her attempt at levity dying in flames. “I go here. To this college, and Aeth’s…connected to the college too. Tristan, I know you don’t go here.”

  He smiled. Wow. His face sort of lightened and his eyes shone. He could be advertising something in a posh magazine. Cologne, Kennedy decided. Or aftershave. Is there a difference? Note to self: look that up. She took a bottle of water from her bag and glugged the final third. It didn’t really help hydrate her brain.

  “No. I followed you. Tried to catch you but you’re quick.”

  “Why?” Aeth demanded, moving so he stood between Kennedy and the newcomer.

  “What’s it to you?” Tristan took a step in turn.

  “Hey. Hang on a minute.” Kennedy stepped forward too. Great. We’re almost line dancing. “Tristan doesn’t answer to you, Rocky. He can stalk someone if he— Yeahno. That didn’t come out right.”

  “You didn’t give me your number…”

  He was doing that on purpose, to bait Aeth, Kennedy could see. It made her grin. “I said I’d be back. And I will.”

  “You vow it?” Tristan asked, his eyes intense.

  “Kennedy, don’t answer him!” Aeth burst in, tugging at her arm to swing her away. He rounded on Tristan. “What are you doing here? What do you want of her?”

  Tristan ignored Aeth. “I have something for you, Kennedy.” He tugged a tiny bottle made of cloudy, old-looking glass from his pocket. With its cork stopper and miniscule handwritten label, it looked like something from the museum below them. “We wanted to give it to you, but you rushed off.”

  Aeth was still holding her arm, but dropped it at those words. He stilled, to the point Kennedy thought he’d turned to stone, and whipped around to check. No, but he was barely breathing. Even less than usual. He seemed to shrink, to diminish in some way. But there was no time to sort him out now.

  “Thanks, Tristan.” She took the offering cautiously. “Is this some sort of travelling fair thing? Because I didn’t bring you a glass bottle. I can get you a cola, out of the machine in the junior common room, if you want to come along there? Oh, hang on, that might be cans. Does aluminium count?”

  She lifted the small bottle. “Am I allowed to open it?”

  “Yes, or you can’t get the powder out! It’s for your headache.” Tristan rubbed the top of her head, his gesture bringing with it a wash of the removed, remote calm she’d felt earlier. She fought not to push her head into his hand, like a cat. He carried the scent she’d been missing since leaving the fairground. Bruised grass. Dried leaves. Aromatic wood. Even the flowing water scent of the rivers.

  “Giacobbe asked my grandfather to decant it for you. He’s a…” Tristan paused, as if searching for the word. She suddenly thought that English probably wasn’t his first language. “Herbalist,” he said, nodding. “I went to fetch it, but you’d gone.”

  “I came here.” Kennedy indicated Aeth, the roof, the museum, the college. She blushed. “Thank you. And thank my uncle.” Wow. It felt so weird to say the word. The trillion and one questions she had beat at her, flapping off into the sky when Trista grinned. “Oh, and thank your grandfather too. So he’s an alternative medicine doctor? Joke. Don’t worry,” she assured Tristan. “Aeth never gets my funnies either.”

  “You’re welcome. And it was a good quip. I guess so, these days, yeah. In his day, when he trained, it was called a pharmacist, I think you’d say.”

  “It’s powder?” Kennedy held it up and shook it. “Do I snort it?”

  “No! Dissolve it in water. It’s…hang on, I knew you’d ask, so I made sure to remember…hartshorn, butterbur, and white willow bark.”

  Aeth finally moved. “You’re not seriously intending to take it?” He twitched a hand and seemed about to snatch the bottle from her, so Kennedy pocketed it, throwing him a glare.

  “Why don’t we all leave the roof? I’m not a big expert on etiquette, but I do believe it isn’t the most recommended place for a chat?”

  As the two guys stared at each other, she sighed and made for the corner, starting to climb down. If she’d thought a silly joke would break the tension, she was wrong.

  “So, what are you doing here?” Tristan demanded of Aeth even before Aeth had hit the ground.

  “None of your business,” Aeth snapped.

  “You know what?” Kennedy interrupted. “I don’t need this. What I do need is a drink. So, I’m going to the cellar bar. You’re welcome to join me, either or both of you, if you can be civil!”

  “After you.” Tristan bowed to Aeth in a parody of civility. “Age before beauty,” he muttered, when Aeth pushed past him.

  Kennedy bunched her hands into fists deep in her pockets, but the action reminded her of who the duster had belonged to. Why that action should, when she’d been wearing the coat, she had no idea. All she knew was it made her pull her hands out, sharpish. She set off, her pace fast.

  “‘Age before beauty’? More like pearls before swine,” Aeth murmured over his shoulder as he caught her up. “And I think you’re ingesting too much alcohol.” This was to Kennedy.

  “I meant I needed some caffeinated drink or even fizzy water, but remarks like that make me want an enormous brandy—and I don’t like brandy!” she retorted.

  “So why would you want one, in that case?”

  “Grrrr!” Kennedy replied, pushing open the bar to the cellar bar and almost tumbling down its steps in her haste. It yawned vast, as deserted as she’d imagined it would be, mainly open for visitors to look around. Would she have to sign in a guest? Or two guests? Aeth was ‘connected’ to the college, in the sense of being a statue on a roof there, but did that make him a member of the college? The absurdity of it struck her and she laughed.

  “Just be thankful I’m too poor to be an alcoholic. You two sit down and be nice. I’ll get some soft drinks.”

  A new bartender, she noted. Someone else working himself off the shit list? She could relate. He was about as chatty as her two guests seemed to be when she reached the table and dumped the bottles and glasses. Stoney silence. Again her lips twitched at the joke. Pity there was no one to share it with
.

  “Shall we start over?” she asked. “Re-introduce ourselves?”

  “Why?” Aeth’s brow creased in a frown.

  “Just wondering if you’ve mistaken Tristano for someone you’re beefing with?”

  “What?” came in two voices, one deep and gravely, one lightly accented.

  Kennedy wished Chandy or Layla were there. They spoke her language. “You don’t even know Tristan, yet you’re behaving like a dick,” she pointed out. “He’s new in town, for one thing. Can’t have annoyed you by mistakenly calling you a garg—for any reason. Aeth, Tristan is with the fair. He’s—”

  “I know what he is.” Aeth slammed down the bottle of cola he’d been toying with.

  What, Aeth had said. Meaning her suspicions had been correct, that the players, the troupe were all…like her. Her kith. Her kin. Her kind. Wow. Her mind wasn’t processing it yet, but her heart was embracing it. “Going out on a limb here,” Kennedy said. “Tris, I’m guessing you know what Aeth is. I don’t know how or why, but I think that’s so. Right?”

  “He’s a…” Tristan searched for the term. “Guardian, I think? Mentor?”

  “Ha! He wishes. The latter, I mean.” Kennedy rubbed the heels of her hands into her eyes. “Yeah.”

  “Do you know how onerous a guardian’s role is?” Aeth burst out. “How it’s made more difficult by the charge one’s supposed to be protecting?”

  “Hey!” His pointed look enraged Kennedy. Oh, yeah, they hadn’t finished their argument. It had been rudely interrupted, as the saying went. Aeth had only just started laying the guilt-trip on her for taking off and nearly…staying off. She hoped the bar’s dim lighting hid her blush. So she’d almost been tempted. “Look, I know the choices I make aren’t necessarily the ones you’d make.”

  Aeth snorted.

  “Is the drink too fizzy for you?” Kennedy enquired, saccharine-sweet. “It can get up one’s nose. Least, I think that’s the drink. Might not be.”

  Tristan didn’t even attempt to cover his guffaw.

  “Demons have always had issues with guardians.”

  This time, Kennedy choked on her ice cubes at Aeth’s words.

  “And you know the problem with travelling fairs, with carnivals?” Aeth looked at Tristano as he spoke now. “They’re where il demonio can hide in plain sight, try to corrupt innocents and run out on any problems they might have caused. On any people they might have wronged. Or any woman they might have… Well. And then it’s up to the men of stone to protect—”

  “That’s not quite true.” Tristan stared hard at Aeth, his voice low and his eyes dark.

  “Can anyone join in this private conversation?” Kennedy snarked. “Oh, and do I have to remind you I hate all that ‘you people’ talk about de—different groups? ’Cause I damn well do.”

  “So. You’ve given her what you claimed you were here to do. Meaning you should go,” Aeth ordered Tristan.

  “I haven’t finished.” Tristan turned to Kennedy and put his hand over hers. “Your uncle—well, all the clan you met earlier—have an offer to make you.”

  “Oh, yeah? Dinner? Show me around?” The thought warmed her.

  “We would like to invite you to take your place in the family troupe. In i comessi.”

  “What? That’s the name? I didn’t know,” Kennedy said, stupidly. Then it sank in. “My place?”

  “To fill in for Isabella for a few days. She needs…rest.”

  She had looked pale. Paler than Kennedy even. “Is she—”

  “She will be fine.” Tristan smiled, his eyes warm.

  “I don’t understand. I…don’t know anything about what she does! I mean, I can serve drinks or food or run a stall or whatever, but she’s an actress!”

  “A player,” Tristan corrected. “We’d be happy for you to shadow her for a few days, see what to do. And what’s to understand? Helping one another out—it’s what kinfolk do, isn’t it?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Kennedy said, her tone laying bare all the bleakness of her childhood and young adulthood so far. Did Tristan pick up on that? Had her kin? Did they sense her craving for, well, family, and realise that Kennedy hanging around with the fair folk wouldn’t necessarily be one-way, merely Kennedy doing a favour for her cousin?

  “You’d be stupid to do that,” Aeth said, as if he could read her heart, his tone judging her yearning, sappy and weak. “Kennedy, I’m telling you, no. Don’t do it. In fact, walk away right now. Come on.” He stood, solid, implacable.

  Tristan’s hand tightened where it still lay on hers, and Kennedy wanted to bask in his warmth and calm.

  She glared up at Aeth. “Don’t ever call me stupid.” She pulled her hand free of Tristan’s. “And don’t paw at me. Because? I don’t know. What to do, who to listen to—who to trust. I simply don’t know.” She hung her head in her hands.

  7

  “Think,” Aeth advised. No. Ordered. “Why can’t you think, Kennedy?”

  “My brain hurts,” she protested, squinting up. “It’s on a go-slow or something.”

  Aeth sat, his body stiff and his brow furrowed. “Is this…a female thing?” he finally asked, his voice a harsh whisper.

  “Arrgg! You stone-cold heap of rock—it’s a human thing!” Kennedy replied, a little louder than she’d intended, and it bounced around, echoing in the long room’s archways and recesses. “I’m still a little…worse for wear, shall we say.”

  “The medicine works for hangovers as well as headaches.” A knowing Tristan pushed her glass of water towards her. “Mix it in and drink it. You’ll be as fresh as a grape in no time. Wait. As fresh as rain?”

  “As right as rain,” Aeth muttered, sitting back and folding his arms. “It’s not difficult.”

  “English is my third language.” Tristan nodded encouragement at Kennedy, making his curls bounce on his forehead. “Apologies for any errors.”

  “Feels like it’s my third, today, after grunting and wincing,” Kennedy quipped. Should she be doing this? “Oh, what the he—helephant.” Aeth had counselled against the H word, but she often slipped up. She yanked the small bottle from her pocket and worked the cork free, to take a curious sniff. “It’s sort of fresher than I’d have thought. Nice.”

  “Kennedy—”

  “You can have a sip if you like.” Kennedy flicked Aeth a hard stare as she tipped the powder into her water. It didn’t fizz, as she’d expected, but turned the water cloudy until she shook the glass and the haze dissolved and settled, leaving the water clear once again. “It smells like flowers, or leaves, or something. What do I know? I’m a city girl.” She put the glass on the table and sent Tristan a shrug.

  She couldn’t make her hands move to bring the glass to her mouth. She narrowed her eyes at her so-called guardian, in case he was working some hex on her, turning her to stone.

  “City girl, you said? Here.” As she stalled, Tristan plucked her glass from the table and took a long sip. “And now you’re a princess, with your own food taster. Accckk!” He mimed choking and wrapped his hands around his throat. “Too much willow,” he commented, licking his lips.

  He was fun. Kennedy wondered if he was her age. Not much older, surely? Ignoring Aeth’s dagger-point glare, she downed the potion in one, tipping the glass upside down over her head after to show it was empty. Both men stared, wide-eyed. “Am I the only one who goes to pubs?” she queried. “Oh.”

  “What?” Aeth looked about to rise.

  “I feel…better!” Kennedy turned to Tristan. “Good, actually!”

  “I’m sure you’re very good,” he murmured.

  “Yes, well,” Kennedy said after a pause. Not that she was averse to flirting. Just not good at it. If that was what it was—she was crap at spotting it too. “About your offer…” And now she was doing it too. Or trying to. “I do want to spend time with you…all, of course. I want to get to know you.”

  Aeth’s sudden movement knocked the table, making it screech on the stone floor. Before
she’d taken the medicine, that noise would have shot though Kennedy’s head and bored a hole as it did so. Now, she was able to sneak a peek at Aeth, and could almost see his disapproval looming large, a dark thundercloud sitting across from her.

  But Aeth had no right to belittle her or judge her secret, her gnawing hunger, her dry-as-the-Sahara thirst for information about her family. An actual family, for real, in the flesh, flesh and blood, would be even better, but Kennedy wasn’t stupid enough to wish for the moon on a stick. Or the moon at all. Its reflection in a pond would do. She’d settle for knowing about her parents. Either of them. Spurred on by Chandy, she’d finally put her name on the Adoption Contact Register last week, and hoped, as did every other adopted kid who had no contact with its parents, that…

  But she also trusted Aeth, didn’t she? At least, trusted that he knew what he was doing, as her…whatever it was. Every time he’d tried to warn her off or against or about something and she hadn’t taken his advice, it had gone badly. He’d been there for her all last term, and he’d helped her become a better person. Demon. Get it right, Kennedy. And was that all she was to him? His demon mentee? His duty. One of a herd. Demons do this, demons do that.

  “Guys… this, I—”

  “Miss Kennedy Smith.” If the jungle-purr to the voice wasn’t a giveaway of the speaker, the man bending to lean his hands onto the table, ignoring Aeth to one side and Tris to another, to stare at her wasn’t something anyone could miss. He made sure of that, with his dark-blond layers of hair springing back just-so from his forehead.

  “Dr Berkley.” Kennedy tried to sound enthusiastic. After all, his say-so had gotten her here in the vacations.

  “What are you doing here?” he thundered.

  “You said I could…” Wrong tack, she saw at once by the shift in his features.

  “I don’t just mean lounging in a bar when you needed to come up outside of term to ‘make up for poorly managed time’.”

  Shout it a bit louder, she thought. They probably didn’t hear you in the library.