Chapter 17 #3
It fit with what Murmur had told her about demons evolving. Yes, demons started out as cruel, heartless harbingers of evil, but they could evolve souls and become something more. And Gamigin had. He’d become so much more that he and Fay had fallen in love and had a daughter.
Her heart ached to think about the tragic end to their story. Gamigin’s only crime was to want to better himself and be a husband and father, and he’d been killed for it, leaving Fay heartbroken and Suyin fatherless.
And he wasn’t just dead. According to Murmur, his soul was trapped in an inescapable prison, his energy feeding the High King of Hell’s power—the one who had killed him. And the prison was so terrible it had made Murmur scream that bone-chilling scream when he saw it in his dream-vision.
She remembered what he’d told her about it. We can never escape. There is nothing but endless black and the never-ending draining of our energy. The despair and hopelessness … It’s far worse than burning alive.
She had to free her father’s soul. Not only because he didn’t deserve to suffer through that, but so he could reunite with her mother.
Life had forced them apart, but they would be joined again in death.
She wouldn’t rest until Murmur’s spell was done.
There would be no peace for her until Gamigin was free.
Yet despite her tragic conviction, there was also closure to be had in finally learning who her father was. Who she was. What she was.
A Cambion. The product of powerful magic.
Not some floundering witch with an inexplicable ability, but someone special, unique.
Possibly the only one of her kind. The more she tried to wrap her head around it, to assimilate this revelation into her identity, the more she found herself bursting with questions for Murmur.
How fortuitous that she had come here—though she would never tell him that lest he become unbearably smug.
Murmur was the only one who could come close to answering the unanswerable questions she had carried throughout most of her life.
He was a veritable fount of knowledge when it came to her father’s work and her own inconceivable existence.
Her plans had changed so many times since arriving in Hell, she’d forgotten where she’d started.
But she was nothing if not adaptable. Now, there was no way anyone was killing Murmur.
Not until he finished the work he was trying to do.
And if she found a way to escape right now, she wouldn’t even consider taking it.
Rather, she would bleed herself out several times over if it made his spell work.
Funny how he’d resisted telling her what he was doing with her blood, but now that she knew, she was infinitely more motivated to help him.
But first, she needed answers. And Murmur was going to give them to her.
A few hours passed, and her anticipation grew until she couldn’t stand waiting for another minute. Unfortunately, it hadn’t been even close to eight hours since she’d left him upstairs.
Then again … she’d basically thrown his rules out the window lately, and he didn’t seem to care. He wasn’t even trying to be scary anymore. He would just glare or roll his eyes at her, maybe flick his tail or point a claw in her face, but that was it.
She smirked. She kinda liked their new dynamic. He was cute when he was grumpy.
No. Nope. She wasn’t going there. Nothing about the Necromancer was cute in any way, and he’d probably string her up in his dungeon if she called him that to his face.
Still, she was too restless to wait any longer. She could use her dwindling food supplies as an excuse if he got mad.
Decision made, she left her chambers and climbed the stairs. She pushed open the library door but came up short when she saw that Murmur’s workspace was empty. She stepped farther inside, scanning around, and then blinked.
Murmur sat on the wooden floor in front of the fireplace, a bright fire crackling in the hearth, his back resting against the ratty old claw-foot sofa. It seemed odd that he would sit there instead of on the couch, but then, the couch looked like it was probably less comfortable than hard ground.
There was a teetering stack of grimoires beside him, and he was intently reading one open in his lap, legs stretched out in front of him. As always, the faint black shadows of his souls could be seen drifting around his form.
He tapped the edge of the book with a claw while he read, and his brow was creased with concentration. His long braid was pulled over one shoulder, and the orange firelight cast dancing shadows on his gray skin. His tail lay relaxed on the floor, the end flicking occasionally.
Why the hell was he suddenly so attractive to her?
She had a clear memory of thinking him hideous when she’d first arrived here. But try as she might, she couldn’t see it anymore. His creepy eyes, pale skin, black claws, proud horns … all of it just looked stunning to her now.
I am a brainless idiot.
He glanced up suddenly, noticing her arrival. His eyes briefly traveled down her body, and her heart skipped a beat. She cursed herself to Hell, and then reminded herself she was already there.
“Good, you’re here,” he said. “Let’s begin.” When she didn’t move, he beckoned her over. “Hurry up. I haven’t got all night.”
She frowned. Did he not realize that eight hours hadn’t passed? She looked over at the sigil, and her frown deepened. Nothing looked different about it than before—No, wait. An entire section had been wiped clean.
He’d somehow made reverse progress.
“Murmur …?”
Should she even ask? She wanted to help him, but—
“I found this book of mine,” he said, looking at the volume in his lap. “I interpreted Gamigin’s notes in my own words. I thought it might make more sense to you, but now that I’m reading it, I’m thinking I’m as mad as he was. Maybe worse.”
She laughed.
And just like that, she thought, Fuck it, and went over to him. He seemed to be in one of his rare sharing moods, and she was ready to learn. She wasn’t going to waste this opportunity.
She sat down at his side, back against the bedraggled sofa, and leaned in to look at the book in his lap.
She felt the cold caress of his souls against her legs, but she was growing used to their presence now.
No matter how diligently she scolded herself for her newfound attraction, it sparked to life in close proximity to him.
“Here, I was trying to explain more concisely the correlation between a soul’s evolution and the demon’s development of consciousness.
Generally, younger demons are more simpleminded than older ones, but with time, their intelligence grows.
And according to Gamigin’s discoveries, it continues to grow until they develop morals and a conscience. ”
Despite her intense interest in the subject matter, she couldn’t help but notice the way Murmur’s rough, gravelly voice made her skin prickle with awareness.
Then he pointed to a line on the page, and she found herself studying his hands.
His fingers were long and slender, but they were also graceful, and the way the tips faded from pure black to pale gray was mesmerizing.
“Obviously, that isn’t a steadfast rule because, as mentioned here, there are plenty of highly intelligent demons that make no effort whatsoever to be good. But that leads one to question—did they skip the development of a soul, or do they have one and just choose to ignore it?”
She inhaled slowly, and her eyelids fluttered. Damn, he smelled good too. Like smoke and frankincense, mixed with that unmistakable manly musk that made women everywhere melt. Maybe it was his magic she was scenting, because she highly doubted he wore cologne, and that shit was potent.
He looked up suddenly, and she realized how close together they were. Their gazes met, his ice-blue eyes flicking between her dark ones.
All coherent thought ground to a halt. All of a sudden, she was unbearably attracted to him, to the point where she couldn’t concentrate on anything else, and she didn’t know how to turn it off.
“Are you listening?” he asked, frowning.
He even looked good making that annoyed face at her. His brows were these perfect, sculpted black arches. His lashes were so thick and long, and they framed his colorful eyes like liner.
She shook herself. She couldn’t believe she’d lost focus so easily. “Yeah. I’m listening.”
His eyes narrowed like he didn’t believe her. She’d once found the dark shadows around them eerie against his whitish skin, but now it all just looked like a masterpiece.
Pretty guys had always been her weakness. Probably because she was bisexual. She liked seeing feminine traits like perfect cheekbones and full lips on men. She’d been wildly attracted to all the elves in the Lord of the Rings movies.
Murmur was like that, except kinda goth looking.
So, better. Way better.
And fuck me, those horns. What was she supposed to do with that?
“Can you repeat that last part?” she said, shaking herself. Get it together, you horny bitch. Pay attention to what the hot dead guy is trying to say.
She reminded herself that this was for her father, for his legacy, and for herself, so she could finally understand who she truly was. It didn’t matter how fuckable her information source was. All that mattered was getting that information.
Murmur shot her a look, to which she responded with a weak smile. He knew she wasn’t listening. Hopefully he didn’t know it was because she was too busy thirsting after him while he was trying to explain complex theory-of-demonic-evolution shit to her.
I am the dumbest dumbass to ever live and breathe.
But damn, he smells good.