by HR Moore
NATION OF THE SUN
By HR Moore
Published by Harriet Moore
©Copyright 2021 HR Moore
Titles by HR Moore:
The Relic Trilogy:
Queen of Empire
Temple of Sand
Court of Crystal
In the Gleaming Light
The Ancient Souls Series:
Nation of the Sun
http://www.hrmoore.com
CONTENTS
PART 1
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
PART 2
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
PART 1
It's a touch, the gentlest of touches. Always. The thing that finally wakes me, reminds me, pulls down the veil so I can remember. It's the strangest thing, remembering. Past lives, past feuds, past loves, past me. It's double edged. I come alive at the knowledge, the power, the secrets.
But the other part, the part that knows of sacrifice, danger, betrayal, would claw and fight and kill its way back to the blissful, ignorant darkness. It would lie peacefully in the restorative slumber of oblivion, covering its eyes, ears, nose, mouth, soul. It would hide, and it would be right to do so.
Chapter 1
Raina had always been stubborn. Willful. Downright annoying. Not that any of that had stopped him from loving her. Like that word, love, bandied around so freely in these modern times, could even begin to convey the deep history that beat between them. Like a slinky stretched thin, just when he thought it would snap, a pulse would come barreling down the line, smashing into him, battering his heart.
How he longed for that painful euphoria now, the link between them stretched toward breaking. It had been stretching for a hundred years, and Caspar was terrified that this time it would finally snap, each side hurtling away from the other.
Damn her to hell.
Caspar had been trying to find her for almost all of the three decades he'd spent in this body. He, unlike Raina, remembered everything, almost as soon as he was born; that was just the kind of demon he was. It had made for some awkward moments in past lives, and he'd been the subject of several more exorcisms than any child should have to endure. He'd learned to keep his mouth shut after the first few reincarnations, and then, after four or five lives, he'd finally been found by a hunter. At last, it had all made sense.
Caspar walked down a grey London street, the scent of summer rain in the air, flicking his fingers nervously as he approached a Chelsea townhouse. Nervousness was an estranged emotion, and he relished it; it reminded him he was alive.
He strode up the steps to the front door, ringing the bell encircled in an elaborate metal sconce. People didn't worry about those kinds of details any longer. It was all small, ugly, white plastic boxes with clicky buttons and gaudy lights. His fingers lingered, drawing strength from the solid, cool metal.
The door swung open and a short, middle-aged woman with a blond bob and kind eyes smiled up at him. A trickle of guilt pooled in his gut.
'Can I help you?' she asked, her English accent impeccable.
'Yes, please,' replied Caspar, in a matching tone. 'If it's not too much trouble, I'd like to request a few moments with the bride.'
'Are you a friend?' she asked, her face brightening at the prospect, body language opening.
'Ah, not exactly … but I need to speak with her about an ongoing investigation.' Caspar pulled out his government ID and held it up. 'There's absolutely nothing to worry about, and I do apologize for the terrible timing, but I'm afraid I need to speak with her quite urgently.'
The woman faltered, not sure what to do. 'I … um … come in. You can wait in the sitting room.'
She showed him into a room where a pair of comfortable looking cream sofas faced each other over a glass coffee table.
'I'll be back in a moment,' she said.
She walked through the arch that connected the sitting room to an office, which led to a dining area around the corner. Caspar stepped forward, following her progress as she approached the loud rehearsal dinner in full swing.
She stopped as the man at the head of the table stood, to raucous, approving cheers, taking the hand of the woman to his right.
Caspar tried to get a look at her, but the man's bulk was in the way. He caught a glimpse of her slender, tanned arm, the curve of her shoulder, her long, silky dark hair, as the man turned to address the table.
Caspar's pulse spiked, his mouth went dry, every sense came alive. He couldn't hear the words, but the man was making a toast, looking lovingly down at his bride. Not his bride, Caspar's mind whispered. Mine.
Cheering erupted from the table as the man pulled the woman to her feet and drew her to him, the flowing ivory silk of her dress rippling around her. The man lowered his lips to hers and jealousy thrashed across Caspar's insides. The man pulled back, shifting, and Caspar got his first proper view.
The look on her face was a physical punch in his gut. Caspar staggered back a pace, his breathing labored. The bride looked adoringly up at her future husband, her whole being focused on him as she smiled, caressing his cheek with long, alluring fingers. Her diamond engagement ring glinted as it caught the light.
The man lowered his forehead to hers and kissed her again, catcalls and whistles filling the air. She pulled back, the man dropping his hand to her waist, then to her backside when she moved to sit down.
Caspar had to look away, lest he forget to keep the leash attached to his temper.
The woman who'd let Caspar in waited for the table's attention to shift away before she approached the bride, whispering in her ear. The bride stood, kissed her fiancé's cheek, then sauntered towards the sitting room.
Caspar sat on the back of a sofa, adopting a casual, nonchalant air, glad he'd worn an expensive suit. It was one of the things that still mystified him, even after all this time, that clothes could offer such powerful fortification.
She came alone, her long, dark, perfectly blown-out hair wafting around her face, earrings swaying in time with her steps. Her cream dress eddied around her, leaving little of her slim, tanned legs to the imagination. Indeed, there was little that the thin silk didn't show off.
She held out her hand, confusion written across her features. Caspar pushed himself to his feet, a step too close for comfort, ensuring she could smell his cologne. He took her hand, looking into her eyes.
She faltered before meeting his gaze, holding it with ancient intensity. Caspar searched for the telltale signs, sure now she was who he wanted her to be, hoping for some trace of awakening.
She shook his hand, their eyes still locked. She seemed to be searching him too, looking into his very soul. Caspar shuddered. Her eyes told him she was sleeping, but she seemed so much like herself.
'Sol uigiliarum,' he said, casually, as though saying the sun awakes in Latin were an everyday occurrence.
'Et deditionem astra,' she immediately replied. And the stars surrender.
Caspar's composure cracked. He almost grabbed her hands, almost pulled them to his lips, almost embraced her. Confusion sprea
d across her face and Caspar faltered.
'What's this about?' she asked, taking a step back, breaking their eye contact. She walked to the fireplace, pausing before turning back to face him. 'Penny said it was urgent?'
Caspar pulled himself together: caution was the best approach. 'Miss Conti, I work for the government, and we're in need of your help.'
She laughed. 'I'm a food critic! What could the government possibly want from me?' She perched on the padded fire surround, appraising every inch of him.
'All I can tell you is that it's a matter of national security.'
She gave him a disbelieving look. 'I'd love to assist, but I'm getting married tomorrow and have a lot to do.'
'You know it's supposed to rain tomorrow?' said Caspar.
'Rain on your wedding day's lucky.'
'Is it? My wife was always adamant of the opposite.'
Did her eyes flash?
'Is that everything?' she said, but didn't stand. Her gaze didn't leave him for a second.
'The situation is urgent. I can compel you to come, if that's required, but I'd really rather not.'
'After the wedding, Dean and I are spending two weeks at Lake Como. I'll be available to help when I return. I can't see how anything relating to high-end restaurants could be so time sensitive.'
'Miss Conti, please don't make me arrest you.'
Amari pushed to her feet. 'Why me? There are plenty of food critics … how did you even find me?'
Caspar's heart gave a sharp thud. Was she toying with him? How did you find me?
'You're not so hard to track down,' he said, studying her face for any hint of what he hoped.
'Everything okay in here, Amari?' The deep, assured, American voice of Amari's fiancé cut through the air as he strolled into the room, crystal tumbler in hand.
Amari walked to her fiancé, his arm settling around her.
'This is Dean Sanderson,' she said, reaching up to peck him on the lips. 'He's one of America's top human rights lawyers. If you're planning to try and force me go with you, I suggest you speak to him.'
Caspar huffed out a frustrated breath, pulled out his phone, and took a step towards them. He snapped a photo of Amari before she could object. 'Have it your way,' he said, leaving a business card on a table as he left. 'I'll be in touch.'
The sound of laughter accompanied his retreat, slithering up his spine like a serpent. The name Amari suited her, but he would get Raina back, if it was the last thing he did.
Chapter 2
Caspar returned to the City of London—to Cloister Cottage—the place he and his fellow demons had called home for hundreds of years. He slipped between two modern monstrosities, turning onto a small, cobbled side street, then ducked through an ancient wooden door into the church-like hall that felt like home.
Talli, a short, wispy, blonde-haired White woman (in this life, anyway), was brewing a herbal concoction in something that looked a lot like a cauldron. She was in the middle of the space, muttering ancient words, wafting steam towards her.
Four copper vessels sat at the four compass points, each a few paces from the cauldron. They contained the elements: earth, air, fire, and water, each playing its part in the ceremony.
Caspar was in such a dark mood he was tempted to step right into the sacred space. No doubt Talli had painstakingly prepared the area, cutting the air, smudging with sage, and she'd probably salted too. But before he'd fully decided not to, a hand closed around his upper arm.
'Don't you dare,' whispered Christa, a tall Black woman with a curly pixie cut.
Christa had only recently awakened, and Caspar was still getting used to her as a woman. Christa was one of the rare demons who regularly switched sexes between lives.
'Talli's been at this all day. She's almost finished, and if you ruin it now, you'll spoil everyone's night.'
Christa held a small bundle of sage into the fire that danced in the copper bowl, blew out the flames, then waved the resulting smoke over both Caspar and herself. 'Watch if you must, but don't you dare wreck this.'
Christa smudged herself some more, handed the herbs to Caspar, then stepped into the circle. Talli had finished the brew, ready to perform the cleansing ritual ahead of Midsummer.
Talli and Christa stood side by side, fire to their backs, and curtsied to the cauldron. They turned as one to face each other and curtsied again. Then they linked hands, stepping in unison to close the space between them, bringing their lips together, looking ancient in their floor-length white tunics and leaf headbands.
Caspar walked away. There was no telling how far they'd take this stage of the ritual, and the last thing he needed was to be around an ecstatically happy, recently reunited couple, when he felt like punching something.
Caspar slipped out of the hall into the room next door. It too was old and big, but it was also cozy, housing the kitchen and dining area. It had an Aga oven, an inglenook fireplace, and a banquet table. Bunches of dried herbs hung from a drying rack above a granite-topped island, and endless jars of preserved fruits and vegetables, spices and condiments adorned the many open shelves. Two large, shaggy dogs curled up in front of the oven.
Next to the inglenook stood an old wooden door that led to the rest of the building. At the other end, by the Aga, was a glass-paneled door and row of windows, leading out into a sunroom filled with plants. It had the feel of a kitchen from times gone by, but meticulously updated with all the necessities of modern life. The coffee machine was particularly impressive.
An old White woman with short, white hair and arthritis-damaged hands stood at the Aga, waiting for the kettle to boil. She absently petted one of the dogs, looking up when Caspar entered.
'Don't tell me,' she said, holding up a hand. 'You screwed it up.'
'I need you to look at this photo,' said Caspar, not rising to her bait. 'I think she might already be awake … some of the things she said …'
'Unlikely, Caspar, but I'll take a look,' she said, accepting his phone.
She zoomed in, carefully studying Amari's green eyes. 'It's hard to tell for certain—the quality's bad—but it looks to me as though she's still asleep.'
'But, her eyes …'
'I know she's got some specks of metal, but that's normal for demons once they reach a certain vintage. And Raina's very old.'
'But she mocked me, joked about how hard it had been to find her.'
'Coincidence?'
'She's marrying a human rights lawyer.'
Rose laughed. 'Your government trick didn't work then?'
'Would I be standing here alone if it had?'
'Going to try and stop the wedding?'
'It's tomorrow.'
Rose laughed again. It was almost a cackle.
'What's happening tomorrow?' asked a boisterous voice from behind them.
Two men entered the room, lowering themselves into seats at the table.
'Ah, the captains of industry,' said Caspar. 'Just who we need.'
'Hey, we're doing a valuable job, bankrolling your lifestyle,' said Jon, the younger of the two well-dressed men, with a smirk. He was well-built, and looked like a stereotypical city trader with his slicked-back sandy blond hair.
'Firstly,' said Caspar, 'don't flatter yourself. We have enough wealth to last us until well into the next millennium, mostly because of my and Raina's previous incarnations.'
'Come on,' laughed Elliot, a tall, broad man in his forties, grey peppering his dark hair. 'We all know it was Raina alone who made us rich.'
Caspar shot him a dirty look. 'And secondly, you're young; you'll care less about money in time.'
'What's got into Granddad?' asked Jon, sending Rose a meaningful look.
'He found Raina,' said Rose. 'She threw him out on his ear. She's marrying a high-flying human rights lawyer in the morning.'
'Ouch,' said Jon. 'Going to stop it?'
'I was just asking,' said Rose, 'before you two interrupted.'
'Well?' said Jon, looking expectantly at
Caspar. 'What've you got up your sleeve this time?'
Caspar took a deep breath. 'I don't know … I'm not sure I should meddle in her wedding.'
'What? After the last time went so well?' Jon joked.
'The last three times,' corrected Elliot.
'Yes, thank you; the last three times could have gone better.'
This was an understatement. Raina had a terrible habit of marrying other people before she awoke. Caspar had staged several interventions during their many previous lives. None had gone well.
'I'm going to try a new approach.'
'Which is?' asked Talli, entering the room with Christa, their faces red, hair tousled.
Caspar went to the stove and removed the now-whistling kettle, shooing Rose and the dogs out of the way. He threw tea bags into an enormous, ugly, industrial-looking silver tea pot and sloshed the water on top.
'Scones?' asked Christa, looking expectantly at Elliot.
'In the tin. Made a new batch this morning,' he said.
'Get the nice jam,' said Rose, to no one in particular, 'and there's clotted cream in the fridge.'
Jon jumped to obey. Christa got the scones, Talli got plates and cutlery, Elliot got mugs and milk. Rose watched, then joined them, taking her place at the head of the table.
'The plan?' asked Talli, slathering cream on her scone.
'I didn't say I had a plan,' said Caspar. 'I just know I need to do it differently to all the times before.'
'But she woke up that one time, when you rode your horse into the church,' said Christa. 'Maybe that would work again …'
'The part after the waking didn't go so well,' said Jon.
'She always was a stubborn one,' said Rose. 'Difficult to wake up.'
'Obstinate,' chipped in Talli.
'Knows how to hold a grudge,' added Jon.
'Maybe someone else should wake her this time,' said Christa. 'It's better when she likes Caspar.'
'She won't like me, even if I'm not the one to wake her,' said Caspar. 'She still hates me.'
'Can't really blame her,' said Jon.
Caspar scowled.
'I'm just saying, it was bad … maybe I could be her shoulder to cry on …'
