by HR Moore
Amari gave him a look, but something deep within her yearned to try it on.
'Who owns it?' she said. 'Won't they mind?'
'A private collector, and I can guarantee she won't mind. In fact, she'd be disappointed if you didn't.'
What kind of crazy show was he running? No collector she'd ever met would be so casual with their possessions.
'Ready?' said Caspar, picking up the headpiece.
She sighed. 'Well, if you insist …'
Caspar smiled, clearly delighted. A thrill ran through her, a knot of excitement balling in her chest. What in the world had got into her? Seduced by a pretty piece of jewelry? She found herself rubbing the ring, the movement feeling habitual. Had she ever worn a ring on her index finger? Not that she could recall …
Caspar lowered the headpiece, the cool metal settling on her brow, caressing her forehead. He looked into her eyes, made a small adjustment, then stepped back, holding her gaze. Was she imagining it, or did he look … hopeful? She closed her eyes, savoring the weight of the metal, getting used to the feel of it.
'Here, take a look,' said Caspar, offering her a handheld mirror.
'Where did that come from?' she laughed.
'As I said: organized chaos.'
She took the mirror, still chuckling as she held it up, but when she saw her reflection, emotion gripped her, her body locked in place. She closed her eyes, trying to clear the strangeness, but images began to play: a bonfire, a celebration, people dancing.
Part of her wanted to open her eyes, tear off the jewelry, run away. She had no idea who Caspar was, and this was bizarre. He could be a serial killer, and she'd gone with him—based on a feeling—without even a second thought. But then, just as she'd resolved to open her eyes, a man, wearing only loose, three-quarter-length trousers, with leaves in his hair, walked straight towards her, holding a gleaming metal headpiece.
The way he looked at her … she was everything; the brightest star in the sky, his reason to be. The way his face lit up as he came close, settled the headpiece on her head … 'You're beautiful,' he breathed, taking her face in his hands and kissing her, like he might never kiss again.
Amari felt that kiss, leaned into it, kissed him back. Blood pounded in her ears, desire pooled in her core, and her breathing shallowed. She melted into him, swaying with him in time to the music. Their mouths demanded everything, going deeper, harder, until she begged him to lower her to the ground, or push her against a tree. And he would have, was going to, was doing it, until Caspar snatched the jewelry from her head and bundled her down onto the hard, wooden floor of his office.
'Caspar! What are you doing?' she cried.
He grabbed her head and made her look at him. His voice was low when he said, 'Quiet. Now. We're in danger.'
Amari's eyes went wide. 'What? Caspar, what the fuck is happening?'
Caspar shushed her with eyes so deadly that she swallowed her protest.
'We're going to run … there's a back door. Hold my hand and don't look back. I'll explain when we're safe.'
He looked at her, his eyes uncompromising, and she nodded her assent.
'Now,' he hissed.
He pulled her up and hurtled towards the door.
Jon tore into the kitchen. 'Have you heard?' he gasped. 'There's been an attack on Caspar's office.'
'I heard,' said Rose, barely deigning to look up, petting one of the dogs.
'Talli told me Caspar was taking Amari there.'
'What?' Rose's head snapped up. 'He's got her? Is she awake?'
'Not when they left the hotel this morning, but she could be by now.'
'Damn it. Why's her timing always so terrible? It's like she plans it, just to raise my blood pressure.'
'Developments with the Templars?' asked Jon.
'Unfortunately, yes.'
'Can't we just register her now?'
'No.'
'There's never even been a single exception?'
Rose huffed. 'There was. Once. It didn't end well.'
'Oh.'
The kitchen door crashed open, revealing Caspar, dragging a furious-looking Amari behind him.
'Lock everything down,' Caspar gasped.
'Were you followed?' asked Rose, gesturing to Jon to do as Caspar said. She sat casually in her seat, but her features were serious, calculating.
'No. I used the tunnels. We lost them.'
'Who was it?' asked Rose.
'I have no idea, and I didn't have time to grab their dagger.'
'Their dagger?' said Amari, rounding on Caspar. 'There was a dagger?'
'Yes. But it was more important to get out alive than retrieve it.'
'I …' said Amari, with a shake of her head. 'What the hell is going on?'
'Jon,' said Rose, 'call Meredith and Gemma. Tell them to go to Caspar's office and track from there.'
Jon pulled out his phone and followed Rose's command.
'Any clues at all?' asked Rose, looking expectantly at Caspar. 'Slayer?'
'Honestly, it's hard to say. I …'
'… I'm sorry, what? A Slayer? With daggers? I've had enough of this insanity. I'm leaving. Never contact me again.'
Rose rolled her eyes.
'Amari, give me a chance to explain,' said Caspar.
'It would be unwise for you to leave before we know who's after you,' said Rose, her tone hard as iron. 'Unless you want to end up captured, or with a knife in your back.'
Amari paled.
'Five minutes, that's all I ask,' said Caspar, motioning to the door at the back of the room.
'Fine,' she growled.
Amari followed Caspar up a short set of spiral stone stairs. They were shallow and worn with time, pagan symbols adorning the walls. She found herself admiring them, despite her mood.
The stairs led to a low-ceilinged stone hallway, with windows running down one side of its short length. The windows were made of small, thin glass panes, and someone had placed simple flower arrangements on several of the sills. They contained old English roses and smelled divine, basking in the sunlight. Amari walked slowly, trying to take in every detail of her surprising surroundings.
Caspar opened the wooden door at the end of the corridor, revealing another corridor beyond, with a steep set of wooden stairs to the left, just after the door.
Caspar climbed the stairs. Amari followed, wondering if she was willingly walking into something terrible.
They emerged onto a landing, doors leading off on three sides, windows letting in light straight in front of them. Caspar turned right, pushing through one final wooden door, which he closed behind them.
Amari took in the plush yet cozy room with its fourposter bed, freestanding wardrobe, dressing table, chest of drawers, nightstands, and small seating area. The seating area contained two button-backed velvet chairs, a stumpy wooden table between them. The window had a cushioned sill, which looked out over a courtyard two stories below.
The carpet was cream and thick, the curtains heavy and embroidered with pink hollyhocks. It was beautiful, and homely. Amari sank into a button-back, almost forgetting Caspar entirely. It was only when he started to talk that her focus snapped back into place.
'I'm so sorry. I didn't think this morning would end up like this,' he said, lowering himself onto the other chair.
Amari frowned. 'I should damn well hope not.'
'I'm going to explain it all, but you're going to think it's crazy, that I'm crazy. So before you run away—into danger—please take a moment to consider what I say, and keep an open mind.'
Amari looked at him with concern. What had she got herself into?
'When you had the headpiece on,' said Caspar, pulling it out of his pocket, 'what happened?'
Amari's eyes scrutinized the metal, remembering the strange dream, the man who'd kissed her, the way her mind and body had reacted. She'd had no time to think about it since Caspar had snatched the headpiece from her brow.
'I had a dream,' she said, tentatively. 'I kn
ow it sounds stupid.'
Caspar leaned forward. 'What was the dream about?'
'There was a celebration. People were dancing around a bonfire. There were flower crowns and people wearing white tunics. There was a man. He had the headpiece. He put it on me, then kissed me.'
'And then?' asked Caspar.
Amari's cheeks heated. 'And then you pulled off the headpiece and threw me to the floor.'
Caspar looked angry.
'What?' said Amari.
'The idiot with the dagger couldn't have picked a worse time.'
'What do you mean?'
'That wasn't a dream, Amari. It was a memory.'
Amari laughed. 'I don't have any memories like that. It was ancient; people were arriving on horseback. And don't tell me the headpiece can carry memories, or I'll have to call you a psychiatrist.'
'Inanimate objects don't have memories,' said Caspar carefully, 'people do. And people who've been reincarnated have a lot of them.'
Amari laughed loudly. 'This is a joke, right? Because if you're serious, I'm leaving. Right now.'
'I told you, it sounds crazy, but think about how the headpiece and the ring feel to you,' he said, pointing to the ring still on her index finger. He placed the headpiece in her hand. 'How does this place feel? How … how did I feel, yesterday, before the wedding?'
Her brain was too full of questions, and sensations, and doubts, and ridiculous, outlandish thoughts. He'd touched a nerve. These things felt like nothing else; they felt right … familiar.
She knew she should give the jewelry back, get up, and walk away, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. The ring especially was too important to her. It was only a thin, battered band of gold, but the idea of taking it off, handing it over, being made to part with it … made her want to claw someone's eyes out.
'How do I feel?' he repeated, kneeling beside her, taking hold of her hand, looking deep into her eyes. Those eyes … they were … they were the eyes from the dream.
She snatched her hand back and stood, whirling away. He'd been different, in the dream, in every way: height, weight, skin color, hair color … everything. But his eyes, they were the same.
Amari's heart pounded. Her brain went silent, numb. This didn't make any sense. Had she been drugged? Was she ill? Maybe she was still sedated, and was dreaming. Maybe her headache, rejecting Dean, had all been caused by Caspar.
'What did you do to me?' she said, rounding on him. 'Did you drug me?'
'What? No! Why would you think that?'
'After I saw you yesterday, it was like my brain was full of smoke. Like I was there at the wedding, but not really there, until all of a sudden, I snapped out of it. Then twenty minutes later, I had some kind of psychotic break, and Dean had to call a doctor.'
'I didn't drug you.'
Caspar paused, looked away, took a deep breath. He was fighting some internal battle.
'Your subconscious recognizes me. You recognized the smell of my cologne, my eyes, the way I speak. Your brain's trying to suppress the memories, and it's causing conflict.
'You rejected Dean because—and please don't flip out when I say this—but you're rejecting Dean because he's not me.'
Amari barked out a laugh, then clamped her lips shut.
'We've been together for countless lifetimes, hundreds of years. After seeing me, your relationship with Dean could never be the same.'
'Have you got any idea how deluded, or … arrogant, that sounds?'
'Yes. It's mad. I sound like I should be committed, but that doesn't mean I'm not telling you the truth. How did Rose and Jon feel to you? You've known Rose for longer even than you've known me. And Jon is young, but you've known him a few lifetimes.'
Every rational part of Amari screamed at her to run. She'd stumbled into a cult, or a mental institution with no obvious medical professionals. Maybe that's who the person with the dagger was: someone to take them back to their rooms …
Come to think of it, she hadn't actually seen the dagger. Maybe he'd made the whole thing up … But every emotional part of her compelled her to stay, to hear him out, to keep hold of the ring for as long as she could. Maybe she could buy it: it had so much sentimental value.
Oh Jesus. She was mentally ill. Maybe Dean had had her committed, and she was a patient here too.
Amari sat back in her chair and rubbed her face with her hands. Caspar was right; everything about this place, these people, felt familiar and safe. Much as she wanted to, she couldn't rule out the possibility that he was telling the truth.
'Who was chasing us?' she asked, trying to stick to the facts.
Caspar leaned forward in his chair. 'I don't know, but there are three possibilities: Slayers, hunters, or someone affiliated to another demon nation.'
'In English?'
Caspar stood and walked to the window. He looked out, pausing for such a long time Amari wondered if he was going to answer. He eventually turned and sat on the window seat, meeting Amari's gaze.
'Those who reincarnate are known as demons. We fall into two groups: people like us, who are affiliated with a demon nation, and hunters, who work individually, or in small, independent groups.
'Hunters look for sleeping demons like you. Once they've found a lead, they sell the information to the highest bidder. Slayers, on the other hand, don't reincarnate. They belong to an ancient group of humans who want to wipe out the demon race.'
'Wow,' said Amari.
'I know; it sounds farfetched.'
'And earlier, it could've been a hunter looking for me?' Did I really just ask that?
'That's one possibility. That's how I found you in the first place. A hunter we've had a relationship with for generations found you, recognized your eyes, and knew I'd be looking for you.'
'You paid one of those maniacs to track me down?'
'In fairness, they found you first, and then I paid.'
'What do you mean, they recognized my eyes?'
'Demons have unique eyes, just like anyone else, but ours contain markers that make us identifiable as demons. Hunters are blessed with the gift of being able to read eyes more easily than others. Not everyone with the gift chooses to become a hunter, but it's a lucrative occupation.'
Amari pushed herself up and walked to the dressing table. She sat on the stool and leaned towards the mirror, scrutinizing her eyes. They looked normal to her.
'So, some other demon could be trying to find me?'
'It's possible.'
'Why?'
'Amari,' he said, opening his hands, palms up, 'you've lived for over a thousand years. During that time, you've had your fair share of alliances-gone-wrong, and feuds, and more than a few lovers.'
'Oh. But it might've been a Slayer?' she asked, almost hopefully. The prospect seemed better than a jealous ex-lover.
'It's possible. In which case, it's more likely that I was the target, given that you're yet to awake.'
He stood and began to pace.
'Unless the hunter I paid also sold your lead to the Slayers. But that's unlikely; Slayers want to kill the hunters too.'
'Jesus Christ.' Amari stood, running her hands through her hair. She shook her head, trying to clear it. 'This is … it's … so much.'
'I'm sorry. I wish I knew a way to wake you, then all of this would be unnecessary.'
He leaned over a button-back, his hands gripping the fabric so hard his knuckles turned white.
Amari walked to the window. She looked down at the courtyard, and watched the birds flit among the shrubbery.
'How does a demon wake up? What makes it happen?' Her tone was skeptical, but she wanted the answer.
'Exposure to artifacts from the past is a good place to start.'
'Things like the jewelry?' she asked.
'Yes, as well as books, pictures, places, smells. And spending time with other demons: eating meals, observing rituals, attending events. Midsummer's approaching. It's the celebration you saw in the memory. We're going to Maltings.'
'Maltings?' she turned her head to look at him. 'You said that word yesterday.'
'Yes. You said I smelled like the English countryside in late summer. I smelled like the garden at Maltings, our country house.'
'Our country house?'
'Um, yes. It was mine first. You yelled at me for buying it without you. But then you said, what's mine is yours, and made me sign half of it over to you. Not that it matters; everything we own really belongs to our nation. We pool all resources.'
'What is a nation, exactly?' Amari's mind raced at all the information, and she ran an agitated hand through her hair.
'Maybe we should take a break. I can bring you some tea? Or you can come down to the kitchen and talk to the others?'
'I'm not ready for that,' she said, adamantly, wondering if he was dodging her question … 'I think I'd like some time alone.'
'Of course; I'll give you some space. There are plenty more objects from your past in this room; feel free to rummage around. The bathroom's across the landing, and I'll come back in a bit with lunch.'
He stopped in the doorway. 'Amari, if you're thinking about making a break for it, just remember, there's someone out there who might want to hurt you. Of course, you're free to leave whenever you want—we're not holding you hostage—but it would be helpful if you told us you were going, so we can send someone to protect you.'
Amari thought about telling him where he could stick it, but there was no point in arguing. As long as there was someone out there who might want to hurt her, she was staying put. And anyway, as odd as all this was, this place was irresistible. It was impossible to fathom, but some deep part of her told her she was home.
As soon as Caspar's footsteps faded, Amari pulled her phone out of her jacket. Dean had sent her a string of messages: He was sorry he had to leave. He was at the airport. He missed her. How was she feeling? He was getting on his flight. He loved her. He'd call as soon as he landed.
Amari checked her watch. He'd be on the flight for another couple of hours. The thought filled her with relief; what in the world was she going to tell him? This whole thing was crazy. Batshit crazy. But she couldn't deny the way she felt about the ring on her finger, or the comfort and familiarity this room brought, or that she was drawn to Caspar, or the dream … memory … whatever it had been. She put her phone down.
