Bat Out of Hell (Promised to the Demons Book 2)

by Lidiya Foxglove

  "I'm glad you see it that way," Bevan said. "It is the way of magic, and resisting the way of magic never comes to much, anyway."

  I wondered if this meant Bevan was ruthless. Ambition was one thing, but...

  "You will come to my bed tonight, then," Variel said. "Oh, I have dreamed of--"

  I flung up my arms. "Wait. You have the right to woo me. That's it. I'm not just going to go straight to your bed! You really don't know how romances work, do you?"

  "I know how marriages work," Variel said.

  "Have you updated it much in the last nine hundred years?" Bevan asked. "Besides, it isn't just you. I'm going to tell Piers."

  "Piers! Piers, too?”

  “I’m afraid so,” I said.

  “I should have known," Variel growled. "That prophecy never mentioned that I should split my wife three ways."

  "No one is splitting me," I said, even as the word had some oddly exciting connotations. "It's just that bond marriages are a family, and I would love to have a family like Helena and Daisy do. But only if you can all get along, respect each other and me, and contribute to the family. I know you can do it. You're very talented, strong and brave, Variel."

  Variel looked a little flustered himself to get a compliment from me, before he gave me a grimace. “I have been reduced to this…”

  "Why are you talking to Piers?" I asked Bevan. "Shouldn't I be the one to do it?"

  "No, no," Bevan said. "It needs to come from me or he won't make a move. Piers doesn't know how to woo anyone. I have to take control of the situation and be the friend who steers him into the right path."

  "You're enjoying turning the tables on him, aren't you?" I raised an eyebrow at Bevan. "Maybe a little too much. I mean, I like the real Piers. I think he'll do just fine with being wooed."

  Bevan laughed. "But you're our lady. We can’t have a bond-mates who doesn't know how to take charge. So I'll help him out a little, that's all.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Piers

  "Can I come in?" Bevan called outside my door.

  "Sure. I was just cleaning up. I left my bag open on the bed and everything spilled on the floor during that commotion on the ship..."

  Bevan ducked through the door and I almost did a double take. "You did it. You took his power."

  "I'm the Devourer now," Bevan said, leaning one hand against the wall. "I know you won't approve, but...I needed that power, and he wasn't holding onto it."

  I felt a shock that wouldn't easily be shaken. In the past, it would have come from jealousy--wanting the power for my own. but this feeling was different. I didn't even think of Jenny first. I thought of Bevan himself, my companion in research, and how I was becoming just as invested in it as he was. I was starting to think that I might be able to come to Chester and ask for forgiveness if I was able to help Bevan with this.

  You'll destroy yourself, I thought. You're not a demon.

  I knew he didn't want to hear it. I didn't want to lose that camaraderie, but...

  "Bevan, the first time you devour someone's soul, you will go down a path that you can't come back from."

  "I don't want to devour any souls," Bevan said. "It sounds like a pain in the ass anyway. But I do have power over the sea monster now, and that will certainly be useful."

  "You need to take power like this seriously. At some point, you will use it. Mark my words."

  "I know your experiences with power didn't turn out well, but I'm fine," Bevan said, waving a hand. "I came to talk to you about Jenny."

  "Jenny?" A crafty way to distract me from the topic at hand.

  "Jenny returns your feelings for her."

  "I swear to you, I don't care if she does. I would not steal her from you."

  Bevan smiled a little. "I believe you. I'm here to tell you that Jenny is interested in bonded marriages."

  "With me!? Is this a joke?"

  "Why would you think that? You two share something I don't have with her--that familiar and warlock relationship, only shuffled around. I know both your minds are eased a little by being around each other. You're better around her."

  "But why would you allow it? You don't want to share her!"

  "I was thinking of it that way at first," he said. "But we're not together every second. I was thinking of how she said she liked exploring La Serenissima alone, but alone surrounded by friendly people. I like being alone too. I never thought I'd have a wife and kids. My body wants her all the time. My heart adores her. But...I'm still me. I like quiet. I like being all alone sometimes."

  "I see. Bond marriages could allow for more solitude as well. Especially if built our own homes, the way Variel set up his cabin."

  "Exactly. I think I'll love Jenny all the more if she leaves me now and then. If we shared sons and daughters. I could be alone sometimes, but alone in a friendly place, with a family. I would know Jenny and the kids were just next door. If she wants her own house all to herself, I'd understand that too."

  "I do understand that perfectly," I said. "I'm a very solitary person."

  "But you do want family, too," Bevan said. "People close by who you can trust to welcome you for a cup of tea, to lend a hand, to gather for a meal and have a good time."

  "It sounds...idyllic."

  "I think so too."

  "But...there's no way it could work."

  "Give me one reason why not."

  All I could think was that there was no way three other people would enjoy my company for long. Bevan shook his head as he watched me frown over explanations. "If I do one thing with these demon powers," he said, "it's to order you around, Piers. Try and do something for Jenny. It's time to show her you'd do anything for her."

  "I'm not sure what she'd like."

  "Maybe she would like to hear a story while she's cooking," Bevan said, after thinking a moment. "She loves books. You like books.She's doing all the cooking for the ship now, so you could give her a little entertainment."

  "I wouldn't mind that. I'm not that good at doing voices, however."

  "That's fine. She has a good imagination. And then...before you leave the kitchen, you try to kiss her."

  "Kiss her!" I was horrified. "How?"

  "Just go for it. She won't refuse you. I mean, read for a little bit first. Something romantic. Wait for the moment."

  "What moment?"

  "When she looks at you and she sounds happy. Maybe pauses a little. Like she doesn't want the moment to end."

  "What if there is no moment?"

  "There is always a moment with Jenny. She's very passionate. And a natural flirt, if you haven't noticed."

  I had noticed that she was very good at giving my feelings a push and sending them spinning off. That must be what he meant.

  "I'll do it," I said. "If nothing else, because I need to stick close to you and keep an eye on you and these demon powers you've acquired."

  "You're already sounding like a real romantic," Bevan said, rolling his eyes. "But I guess we'll see how it goes."

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Jenny

  I wiped my forehead with my sleeve, as the kitchen was getting quite hot despite the cold outside. I had only myself to blame for working so hard; I found almonds on the ship for topping my chestnut tart, but they were whole and I wanted them slivered, so I'd been slicing nuts by hand in between kneading bread, and every muscle in my hands and arms was getting tired out.

  Piers walked in, holding a book. "Am I disturbing you?"

  "No!"

  "I wondered if you enjoyed some reading while you work." He held up the book.

  "Aren't you nice to think of that! I would love it if you read to me! Usually I was the one reading aloud to Mrs. Franch in the evenings while she did her sewing."

  "I have to admit it was Bevan's idea," Piers said. "And there aren't many books on the ship. It seems that Cash and his mates prefer music, dancing and card games to reading."

  "They do seem very lively," I said. "But I don't care what it is.
It'll be nice to have a voice to share the room with, and it'll keep my mind off how much my arms are aching. I'm not used to making food for so many people, I have to admit."

  "At least you'll learn a little of what we've been researching," Piers said, cracking open the book. "This is sort of an overview of common knowledge of familiars, which is what we're hoping to expand on..."

  "Go right ahead." I picked up an orange to zest.

  "'Introduction. The race of familiars is mostly one of secrecy and misinformed assumption, when viewed from outside of the realm of wizards, and even they seem largely ignorant to what power they have truly harnessed when it comes to these chimeral beings, who accompany them from the time of birth, offering them protection and edification, from some source beyond themselves, which this book humbly hopes to explore, if not to explain. It is my hope that in due course, this book will endeavor the reader to approach--'"

  "Oof," I said. "That's wordier than Dickens."

  "I would say it's about as wordy as Dickens," Piers said. "You don't like Dickens?"

  "Not really."

  He turned back a few pages. "Well, this is an update of a book from 1655. The last edition was 1888."

  "And that's what you and Bevan have been reading?"

  "We've been reading everything we can get our hands on. But this one was the most accessible…”

  "So faeries use the same years as we do?"

  "Apparently they do. They still had contact with wizards after our modern calendar was adopted."

  "It seems awfully funny to me that faeries count years based on human religions."

  "Just for the sake of convenience," Piers said.

  "And they speak the same language as us. Even though we don't speak the same language as we did a thousand years ago."

  "Well, that's easy to explain," Piers said. "The fae always speak the same language as humans. Or maybe we speak the same language as they do, when we're in their presence."

  "You mean, their language changes based on ours? So they could speak to Chinese wizards just as easily as us?"

  "Yes."

  "But do the words in their books change too?"

  "Maybe it's actually that we see their language as ours when we're in their realm. No one has ever figured it out, except to say that if you put a French wizard and an English wizard in the fae realm together, they both speak to the fae perfectly, but not to each other."

  "Wait--I'm so confused! So the fae perceive it as the same language?"

  "Yes, they hear their own tongue. And the Englishman and the Frenchman each hear their own tongue."

  "Maybe it's more like a translation spell?"

  "Well, this isn't the Fixed Plane," Piers said. "So a thing can be two things at once. A place can be both far and close, and a language can be both fae and English at the same time."

  “That makes my head hurt!"

  Piers smiled. "Funny, since you are not from the Fixed Plane yourself."

  "I'm from St. Augustine," I said. "As far as I've ever really known. I feel human, when I think about it. I'm used to things having set ways of being."

  Piers put the book down and leaned on the counter. “And you want to be a magical baker?"

  "I hope so."

  "So you'll have to learn to think like a magic user," he said. "Or a magical being, in fact, because that's what you are. You might as well take advantage of it."

  "How would I do that? I don't understand."

  "Magic doesn't operate by the usual rules," Piers said, looking over my shoulder now. "What are you making now?"

  "Chestnut tart with almonds."

  "Do you have a recipe?"

  "No, no, I know it by heart."

  "And what do you get when it's done?"

  "A rich tart," I said. "That tastes like nuts. It doesn't have any wheat, just nuts and lots of butter, so it's very filling and it makes me think of this time of year."

  "A holiday food," Piers said. "What else does it make you think of?"

  "Oh, of Italy and France! I've never been, of course, but I imagine a grandmother with lovely strong hands making this beautiful brown chestnut tart for a big family. She has an old farmhouse in the shadow of the Alps and her grandchildren come for Christmas, and they look forward to this tart, and all the other things she makes, with cheese from her own goats and sheep, and mushrooms she gathered in the warmer months and dried herself..."

  "So it's...a family feeling," Piers said. "That's quite a back story for just one tart."

  "I guess I do that with everything, now that I think about it. Like certain desserts make me think of lovers, and some of children having parties, and some of being by yourself reading on a rainy day."

  "Put that feeling in the tart," Piers said. "The whole story with the grandmother and the Alps and all the good feelings it gives you. I don't just mean thinking about it, but I mean really casting it in there. Do you know what I mean?"

  "Yes. I think I do." I finished mixing the ingredients, and I held the bowl between my hands and shut my eyes. I thought about the ideal vision of the chestnut tart until I could nearly smell the mountain cold and the trees and the sheep in their barn and the fresh cheese in its light, salty brine.

  I let out my breath. "There."

  "I think that will be the best tart you've ever made," Piers said.

  I poured the batter into a pan and checked the oven temperature before I slid it in. I beamed at him. "Thank you for sharing your understanding of magic with me. You must know so much about how it works."

  "A lot of it is just your will, and your ability to believe in things beyond what you know, and follow the threads and signs showing you the way. Just always be careful. Once you start following a dark thread, it's easy to keep going."

  "I understand," I said solemnly. I looked at his book. "Can you just tell me a story from your head? Maybe an adventure you've been on?"

  "An adventure?" he said. "None of them have been good stories."

  "Have you ever been to New York City? Bevan said he'd take me there one day."

  "Well, yes, of course, because we all lived just up the Hudson. We would go there for shopping once in a while, but my parents treated the city like it was an alien planet with toxic air."

  "Does it really make you feel sick to be in a big city?"

  "It weakens magic," Piers said. "And then it energizes other parts of your mind. Cities have magic too, but it's a very rough magic, hard to control if you don't have the experience."

  Piers told me stories of New York while I finished all the foods I was making, of seeing interesting types of humans who would dance and make music everywhere, and how many humans have a dog with them all the time who was almost like a sort of magic-less familiar, and how humans are very rebellious and protest their leaders and employers and are rude to each other in ways wizards would never be, and I wasn't sure if it sounded scary or exciting.

  "It's definitely both," Piers said. "It's thrilling when they think you're just a normal human and talk to you, and a guy selling pizza was rude to my mother like he didn't care who she was, which I guess he didn't."

  "I want to see it," I decided. "But definitely not alone. Well, I think we're ready to eat. Could you carry out the bread?"

  As I left the kitchen, well behind Piers, Bevan saw me in the hall and said, "How did that go?"

  "What?"

  "I'm trying to help Piers learn how to be romantic."

  "Romantic?"

  "Based on that blank look, I see he failed miserably. Please tell me he at least tried to kiss you.”

  “No. Definitely not.”

  “Oh, for gods’ sake.”

  I paused. "Maybe it was romantic, actually."

  "If you only think of it afterward, it's not. I think he might be hopeless. How can he not be dying to touch you?”

  "He talked to me about magic and humans and languages and other interesting things. And if he suddenly kissed me, I would have been more surprised than I am with you, but I think the
surprise would make it nice. Piers is certainly different from you and Variel, but nothing else would suit him.” I tapped my lips with my fingers. “I think he is dying to touch me, if I had to guess.”

  “Oh, well, at least my girl is getting a little cocky with her charms now!”

  "Maybe he isn't much of a romantic, but I still feel something from him, and it’s as powerful as anything.” I added, "You've grown a little protective of Piers.”

  "Must be that pretty new face of his warping my brain."

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Jenny

  On the seventh morning of our voyage, the skies were so very dark and the wind so cold that every inch of the ship was freezing, even near the oven. I had a hard time getting out of bed to make breakfast.

  When I went to feed the sea monster a few burnt biscuits (he loved them), I squinted at the horizon. It looked like the endless sea was broken by a line of dark, solid ground.

  Finn was supposed to be the lookout, but he was busier clutching a warm drink and hopping around.

  "Finn, is that land!?” I called.

  He held up the telescope. "That's an island all right! The island, if the map is correct."

  "How do you map the faery lands for sailing?" I asked.

  "That's a long question for another day, dear," he said jauntily, and set off to call the others.

  The sea dragon ate his biscuits quick enough, but now he was lagging behind the ship like he wouldn't go any farther. The ship kept moving along and the dragon just hovered in place in the water looking at me sadly like a dog hiding under something hoping it won’t be forced out and punished.

  I cast my eyes out toward the island. The cold air whipped my hair into my eyes. The island looked like the loneliest, most forlorn outpost in all the realms, just a scrap of land under the darkest skies, and I had a heavy, sorrowful feeling rising up in me the more I looked at it.

  I had this eerie feeling, as if no one had looked upon this island for hundreds of years, as if just looking at it was resurrecting some ancient, buried magic.