Chapter 5
“What the bloody fuck were you thinking?” Casimir hissed as soon as we were out of earshot.
He managed to maintain his composure just long enough to steer me out of the dining hall and usher us far enough away that there was little risk of our being overheard.
Gripping onto my elbow, he swung me around to face him as soon as we reached the privacy of an alcove, his features contorted into equal parts rage and fear.
“Farrow, are you even listening to me?” he demanded, shaking my shoulders.
I must’ve still been in shock because I hadn’t uttered a word since we’d left the dining hall.
My mind was reeling to catch up to my body, trying to make sense of things as horror crashed over me.
Devereaux had stolen my autonomy, forcing my body to bend to his will like a puppet master—and August—he was in danger.
I tried to twist out of Casimir’s hold, but his grip was unrelenting.
“I was under the mistaken impression that you possessed a modicum of sense,” he said his breathing ragged. “And yet, not two days after you swore you would steer clear of Devereaux Graves, I find the two of you sitting together like old friends! Have you completely and utterly lost your mind?”
My lips moved before my mind comprehended what I was saying. “Just—shut up for a second, will you?” I growled. I needed a moment to process what the fuck had just happened.
Behind my confusion was a growing sense of outrage at the unfairness of this whole situation.
His vitriol where I was concerned was more than just unfair, it was entirely misplaced.
I snarled, “I don’t know how you expected me to avoid Devereaux’s stupid secret society without knowing anything about them.
” I tugged against his grip until he released me.
Casimir pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed in exasperation. “What happened?” he asked flatly.
I huffed in annoyance. “I don’t know what happened. One minute, Devereaux was inviting me over to their table, and the next—” How could I explain how he’d seized control over my body? The thought of Devereaux’s cold smile was enough to send a chill slithering down the length of my spine.
And then, there was August’s display of bravery in knocking the glass out of my hand. He’d stopped Devereaux from poisoning me, but why? Why take such a risk? He’d known there would be consequences. Thinking about it made me feel exhausted and dizzy.
I shut my eyes and tried to sort out the mess of my feelings against my overwhelming fatigue. To make matters worse, nausea began to roil in the pit of my stomach, pitching dangerously.
“I think I’m going to be sick.” Which was odd, because I hadn’t actually drunk any of the wine. I swallowed hard, stifling the urge to vomit. I realized I was swaying on my feet, and I reached out a hand to steady myself on the stone wall.
Casimir’s anger deflated. “That can happen after being around someone like Devereaux,” he explained.
My head snapped up so I could stare at him. “What does that mean? Is he…a…” The question died on my lips. What was Devereaux exactly? A mesmerist? A fucking wizard? All of the possibilities my mind conjured sounded childish. Absurd. “A mentalist?” I finished weakly.
Casimir’s eyes still glinted with the remnants of his earlier fury, but they softened now as he met my burning curiosity. He let out a hollow laugh. “Devereaux Graves is something much worse than a mere mentalist.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
He leaned back against the alcove wall and let out a frustrated groan. “I didn’t want to involve you in any of this.”
I huffed impatiently. “So you’ve said. Obviously, it’s too late for that now.
” Devereaux had as good as promised to seek me out again.
“How do you know Devereaux?” I demanded.
“And what did you mean, calling him and his friends ‘exiles’? Devereaux is the head of the Gilded Circle, for goodness’ sake!
His family’s exorbitantly rich and connected. ”
After a pause, Casimir answered. “Devereaux is the head of the Gilded Circle, it’s true. But he also recently founded a new society, known as the Bloodthorn Order.”
I fronted. The Bloodthorn Order? I’d never heard of it before. I opened my mouth to ask him what exactly this society was, and then froze. Evren had said something strange, back in the Tusk, and it now rose to the forefront of my mind.
“Going to chop off our limbs over a mortal girl, Cas?” he’d said.
A mortal girl.
Finally, the question I was afraid to ask slipped from my lips. “What are you?”
A muscle ticked in Casimir’s jaw, and then he scoffed, but not before I saw the flicker of recognition in his eyes. “I can’t believe you’re asking me that,” he ground out.
“Don’t lie,” I warned. “I’ll know if you do.” Not strictly true in his case, but I was willing to stretch the limits of veracity if it persuaded Casimir to tell the truth.
He shot me a curious, almost skeptical, glance.
I broached the subject from a more delicate angle. “You said Devereaux was something far worse than a mentalist. What did you mean?” I held Casimir’s gaze, willing myself to remain composed as he silently weighed whether or not he could trust me.
At last, he answered through gritted teeth. “Devereaux Graves is a Daemon.”
“A Daemon,” I repeated. There was a long pause. “And what the fuck does that mean, exactly?”
“It means he’s not human.”
My stomach gave a nauseating flip. A Daemon. Not human.
White hot panic welled inside my chest, and I bit the inside of my cheek to conceal the evidence of my growing fear.
I spoke slowly. “So, you’re saying Devereaux Graves is…
not human. That he’s some sort of… monster?
” I said, catching Casimir’s wince on the word monster.
“And you expect me to just believe you?”
He rolled his eyes at that. “Would you like more proof? Shall I put together a formal presentation?” His lip curled in disdain. “I would’ve thought what you witnessed in the Tusk was enough to take me at my word.”
“No, but a little context would be much appreciated,” I snapped. “You’ve just told me that some boy I’ve gone to school with for over a year isn’t even fucking human, and you expect me to just accept that—
“I don’t have time for this,” he cut in.
“Make time for it, then!”
We glared at one another across the dark alcove, his bright eyes glowing like a beacon against the shadows.
Casimir’s voice dropped to a dangerously low octave.
“I know you grew up in Maine. Don’t tell me you weren’t told the stories about Daemonic beings who reside in the caves and archipelagos off the coast?
” His eyes glinted menacingly, unblinking as he held my gaze.
“‘Beware the Daemon, the spirits of bone and blood. The spirits who kidnap children that wander into their woods; cross them once, and you’ll never be seen again.’”
A chill crept over my spine at the words. My father had told me those very stories about Daemons when I was young. But that’s all they were. Stories. Amusing local lore and fairy tales for children.
“But those are just fairytales,” I argued. “Folklore, told to keep children from wandering too far, lest they meet their deaths in the caves and forests around the island.”
A low, sardonic laugh rumbled through Casimir’s chest, the sound of it driving shards of ice into my bones.
Even as I shook my head, refusing to accept the truth of his words, dread twisted in my stomach like a dagger.
Casimir spoke again, cutting off my unvoiced denials. “The tales of kidnapping and poisoning might be a bit exaggerated, but the Drekavac folk are real.” He was watching me warily, expectantly. He was waiting for me to panic.
Could it be true? That Devereaux Graves lived as a wealthy, popular socialite—albeit with a reputation for cruelty—when in truth, he was an evil creature of folklore? A Daemonic interloper in mortal society?
Or… maybe he was just trying to scare me.
Perhaps he and Devereaux were both in on it, and this was all part of some sick, elaborate prank.
But the way he was looking at me… it was as though he were hanging off a steep precipice, and my answer would determine his fate.
He had placed a delicate secret in my palms, wondering if I would crush it.
“How old are you?”
His answering expression bordered on a grimace. “Are you implying I look older than our peers?”
“I might be.”
He snorted. “It’s true that Daemons age slower than mortals… but I’ve only just passed my thirty-sixth year.”
“Oh!” I gasped in obvious relief.
Casimir laughed at my dumbfounded expression. “What, did you think I was four-hundred years old or something?” He almost looked offended.
Still, a bit old to be a college sophomore.
Even if Daemons did age more slowly. Our conversation struck me as so utterly absurd that I loosed a choking, hysterical sound—not quite a laugh.
But as I gazed into his eyes, I struggled to comprehend that he was anything but otherworldly.
Angel or Daemon, I couldn’t deny he was formidable.
“So, you’re a Daemon.” The words slipped out like an accusation.
Casimir’s eyes glinted like dark jewels as he moved closer. “You’re a clever girl,” he said, his tone taunting. “Didn’t I all but say as much?”
The air between us grew thick with tension.
I could hardly believe it. Here I was, standing alone, in a dark alcove with a creature of myth.
A monster. A small voice in the back of my mind reasoned that if Casimir wanted to harm me, he’d had many opportunities to do so.
Furthermore, Casimir had rescued me from further torment at the hands of Devereaux.
Hadn’t he?
I swallowed, averting my gaze. My fingers twitched nervously. “Alright,” I hedged, “If you and Devereaux are—Daemons—what are you doing here?”