Chapter 11
Twenty minutes had passed when I pulled over, studying the map of where I’d find the wolfsbane.
I debated again whether to confront Jonah first or get the wolfsbane.
Having all the ingredients for the spell would ensure that if a visit with him didn’t yield the result I needed, we could proceed.
If Jonah or one of his affiliates was the culprit, then the other ingredients, meeting with a demon, and my odd request of the vampires would be unnecessary.
For several minutes, I ruminated over what to do.
I’d just made the decision to visit Jonah, when I received a call.
“It is my understanding that you are looking for me.” The rich voice held a hint of amusement.
“And you are?” I asked. The demon didn’t need an introduction.
“Diehle.” He provided his name with the reverence of royalty.
“Diehle,’ I repeated. And closed my eyes in a silent thank you to Corrine, who’d made this happen. “Yes, I’d like to meet you. As soon as possible.”
“Of course.” His unbridled enthusiasm made me wary. “Meet me within the hour,” he directed, ending the call without offering a goodbye or a meeting place. Moments later, I received an address from an unknown number. He was concise and direct. I suspected all dealings with him would go that way.
Discussions about deals made with Diehle were never revealed.
I assumed any deal came with some form of a nondisclosure agreement.
Or was it something worse, and the person was unable to recall the deal?
Humans were known for being lured into making deals with Diehle.
If a witch had ever dealt with him, they weren’t freely admitting it.
What would drive a witch to make a deal with a demon?
Probably a situation as desperate as mine.
The text of gratitude I sent to Corrine was quickly met with a question mark.
“For the meeting with Diehle,” I replied.
She called. “Kara, you know I am quite fond of you, despite your efforts to sway me otherwise. No amount of affection would push me to deal with the demon.” She couldn’t even manage to say his name, as if it would summon him or give him more power.
My mind sifted through everyone who could have set up the meeting; Corrine was the only one I could think of.
She’d given me the book and figured I’d need a meeting with the demon.
If it wasn’t Corrine, who was it? It was highly unlikely to be Rachel, and I was confident she didn’t have a way of contacting him.
Both William and Belham shared Corrine’s apprehension about dealing with Diehle.
Cirrian.
I pushed the possibility aside despite it being the likely answer. I was at a loss for what he got from making this introduction. Perhaps it was nothing more than another form of entertainment for him.
“I’d advise you to find a way to use the grimoire without dealing with the demon,” Corrine pressed, breaking into my thoughts.
I explained that in my search to break the curse, I’d discovered that it required Balic fig, a demon fruit.
“Once again, you’ve proven to be resourceful and clever,” she mused softly.
I couldn’t tell her I got the information from a shadow god.
Instead, I led her to believe that the company had accurately translated the spell, and I’d stumbled upon the knowledge about the Balic fig through my research.
I hoped all the lies of omission wouldn’t catch up with me.
“Be safe, Kara, and share the translator’s information with me.”
I was confident Dr. Bailey didn’t want anything to do with Corrine but wondered about Dr. Sung’s curiosity about vampires. Or would she decline any dealings with vampires—especially Corrine?
The location Diehle provided wasn’t his known residence.
From my Google search, it was a home outside the city.
A feeling of foreboding settled over me.
Forty minutes later, driving up an exceptionally long stretch of driveway, I’d reconsidered my decision to meet him at least four times.
All these years, Diehle had just been a name I knew and a face I couldn’t pick out of a lineup.
The people rumored to have made deals with Diehle were filed under the “not my concern” section of my brain.
Deals probably made out of desperate situations, like mine.
Getting out of my car, I inhaled deeply, unable to fully appreciate the grandeur of the estate before the door opened, revealing a man a little under six feet with a medium build, who appeared to be in his late fifties.
With a relaxed confidence, he leaned against the frame of the door.
One hand was shoved into the pocket of his tailored black slacks.
The onyx-colored cashmere sweater molded to his athletic frame and presented an air of refinement and old money.
I couldn’t help but wonder where his money came from.
Did demons have a trust fund or was his wealth a result of sordid deals, coerced favors, and pilfered treasures?
His hewn features were complemented by a columnar nose that he looked down, watching my steps as I approached.
Hints of gray bordered the temples of his ash-brown hair.
Thin lips were stretched into a taut line that crept into a biting smile.
He had an unremarkable appearance until I was a few feet away and he lifted his eyes to meet mine.
Ruby irises circled in black created a stark contrast against the warm ash-wood color of his skin.
The piercing intensity of his eyes stopped me in my tracks and made it difficult to hold his gaze.
They darkened to garnet, as if to ease my discomfort when my steps slowed.
That didn’t make it any better and prompted me to look for other identifying traits.
If I were to look at his feet, would his leather loafers now be replaced with hooves?
My eyes flicked to his tuft of hair, expecting horns to protrude.
For a few moments, I searched for monstrous details that aligned with his peculiar eyes.
You can do this, Kara. It’s just a demon, I coaxed myself, once I realized I’d completely stopped about five feet from him.
“Kara, we finally meet,” he said when I reached him.
His voice was satin smooth but unsettling.
I didn’t like the familiarity of it. I stared at his outstretched hand before reluctantly taking it.
His grip tightened, firm and unyielding.
Before I could pull it away, his other hand covered mine, trapping it between his palms.
Blinking once, he revealed his bright red irises before they vanished behind his peculiar garnet. He must have believed that color was more palatable. It was just as unsettling, serving as a reminder of what I was dealing with.
I tugged my hand as a signal for him to release it. A courtesy he was undeserving of after his hostile greeting. Initially, his appearance gave off approachable scholarly vibes, but now I could see the unmistakable menace. Realizing he wasn’t going to release my hand, I snatched it from his hold.
His lips curved and he lowered his hands to his sides. Black razor-sharp talons replaced his nails. Taking notice that his newest reveal had my full attention, he retracted the deadly looking weapons.
“Welcome to my home, Kara.” He pushed the door open wider and extended a talon-less hand inviting me in. An invitation that my entire being urged me to decline. There has to be another way. But this was the most time-sensitive option.
I took a deep breath, moved toward the entrance, and stopped to inspect it. Diehle’s position obstructed part of the view. From my vantage, I couldn’t see anything other than dark wood flooring stretching over a vast foyer, glimpses of bronze sconces, and dim shadowy lights.
“Entering my home obligates you to nothing, Kara.” He’d dropped the gentle familiarity with my name and delivered his words in a chilly rebuke.
Magical contracts were dual-consent, I reminded myself, which provided some comfort.
He led me through the large foyer, past an open sitting room with white furniture that was a direct contrast to the dark wood, Persian rug, and neutral décor.
Moving farther into the house, I passed several closed doors.
The interior of his home became increasingly more hermetic until we reached the living room, where he’d attempted a look of casually moody elegance but landed squarely on ominous.
Despite its spaciousness, the textured midnight-blue wallpaper, oversized windows, and beautifully designed chandelier that shed a soothing peach hue over everything, the room was still suffocating.
Soft illumination in built-in shelves displayed grotesquely contorted masks, statues in peculiar poses, and antique books with indecipherable titles, which offset any warmth or comfort the room offered.
The half-hearted attempt at softening the ambience by adding an oversized cognac-colored sofa with plush pillows and luxurious throws failed to distract from the disturbing collections.
My attention skated over the room and stayed on the strangely curated décor.
A pristine kitchen gleamed to my right. The immaculate surfaces reminded me that he wasn’t human and wouldn’t abide by human rules. I would be dealing with magic vastly different from the witches.
“You’ve made quite the impression among the other denizens, Kara—vampire whisperer,” he said, pulling my attention away from the unsettling details of my surroundings and escape routes I was scoping out. Meeting his odd eyes, I responded with a plaintive smile.
“I believe there is more to you than the gift of coaxing the blood suckers into civility. Am I wrong?”
I beamed. “Definitely. I’m a master with a crochet hook. Just give me some yarn and I’ll prove it to you.”
His brows drew together in an expression that plainly showed he had no interest in my crochet skills and didn’t find me humorous.