Chapter 21
The basement. Cirrian had described it casually, but nothing could have prepared me for the ominous dread I felt going through this house of horrors.
We stopped in front of a beautifully paneled wall.
Cirrian pressed something I couldn’t see, and the wall swung open, revealing sheets of darkness.
When he flicked the switch, clawlike metal fixtures cast an eerie amber glow as if warning us away.
The final caution to change course. Everything about Diehle’s home was casual caution, designed to make you feel foolish for continuously ignoring the warnings.
My hands wrapped tightly around the wrought-iron rails, and I welcomed the heat of Cirrian’s body behind me as we descended the stairs. Halfway down, he gave my shoulder a warm reassuring squeeze that made it easier to disregard the fatigue settling into me.
The air in the basement was a cool heady mixture of scents: stone, dried herbs, and something metallic—which I hoped wasn’t blood. Cirrian looked for more lighting but found none.
Out of deference to his death, I withheld my comment about Diehle being unnecessarily extra.
The basement wasn’t any different. He’d abandoned modern comforts for the utilitarian look of a dungeon.
Stone walls, concrete flooring, and two weathered leather-bound chairs with metal frames that were the only seating available.
A table held vellum, strips of fabric that appeared to be linen, uniquely shaped vessels containing oddly colored liquid, and small stoneware bowls with lids hiding the contents.
Scents of tannin came from one and sage from another.
Drawn to the sigils burned into the floor that pulsed faintly as if to a heartbeat, I pressed my hand to my chest and felt it move in time.
Magic that prevailed even when the source was dead made everything about the room terrifying.
“It’s how they navigate their realm,” Cirrian explained.
“If they have their own realm, why are they in ours?”
“Theirs is filled with other demons and this one isn’t. A predator is nothing without its prey.”
Tidbit after tidbit of reasons why staying away from demons was essential.
“Is there anything that can be done to keep another demon from moving in?”
“This is not my realm. I make my collections and I observe. An amused observer. You aren’t the rule but the exception I made because our interests aligned.”
I stared at him, realizing he was an extension of everything that Diehle’s home represented. Predation. Diablerie. Insidious bargains. And hierarchy of power.
“Thanks,” I whispered, moving toward the spellbooks.
“For what?” He moved just as quickly as I had to devour the space I’d placed between us.
“The reminder.” The chill in my voice mimicked the room. Cirrian considered me for several moments before tearing his eyes from me. I wasn’t sure if it was a concession or dismissal. He moved to the wooden pedestals that held three closed books on each.
“Let’s find the spell and get out of here. My pet is probably waiting for me.”
“Pet?” A sly smile curled his lips, the ambient light casting shadows over his face and highlighting the striking structures of his face. “When did you get a pet?”
“It’s the wolf. He keeps finding me. So, I guess I have a pet. Your call scared him away.”
Cirrian’s head canted while he studied me.
The sound of Cirrian’s voice had caused my new sort-of-a-pet to scuttle away.
I followed him to the closest stand that held a dark-leather book.
Closer inspection revealed that the cover wasn’t leather at all, but scales, overlapping and iridescent, shifting subtly as if sentient.
The house of horrors never ceases. Cirrian fingered through the pages, scanning them with familiarity.
“So you’re not always an ‘amused observer’ but in fact an interloper,” I pointed out when he stopped on a page I assumed he needed.
Amusement sparked in his eyes. “Diehle has always amused me, as have his acquisitions. Of the demons I’ve encountered, his ability to obtain the most obscure artifacts, spellbooks, and objects is impressive.
I interjected myself into his life more often than usual with a purpose. Hopefully it pays off.”
Slowly reading over the spell, he looked around at the glass jars.
I was mistaken about what they held. One had pieces of silver; I was correct about the other containing tannin.
The third held liquid. Moments later, I was holding the pieces of silver wrapped in sigil-marked linen.
My hand was illuminated and enveloped by chilly magic dancing around it.
Nothing nearly as painful as what I endured upstairs.
And still there was nothing. Goddess Annessa’s death had broken Cirrian’s heart, but it also left me with no more options. The person who had locked our magic was no longer available to be persuaded to release it.
Cirrian’s disappointment was kept from his face, but I could see it in his air of apathy.
“This one?” I asked, stopping near the second book. It was plainer than the first and covered in silver filigree.
“There’s nothing in that one that can help.
Just a demon’s failed attempts to tear open the veil between the realms, create dhampirs with magic, and magic that can be used against werewolves in their animal form.
Diehle was interesting to watch. His ambitions and his failures give me insight into how to protect Umbryth. ”
While he migrated to the third pedestal, I stayed planted at the second one, determining how I’d destroy the book. Quickly deciding on keeping it simple, I took hold of the pages to shred each before feeding them to the fire. Cirrian grabbed my hand.
“You should learn the art of being an observer,” he advised.
“Leaving this here doesn’t make me an ‘observer,’ it makes me complicit in the perpetration of unchecked powerful magic, chaos, and the harm of others.”
“Others’ failures can be your education and tools for defense. I’ll leave and other demons will either dismiss the failures and get rid of it. Or their knowledge of it. And I will inject myself into their life to ensure they fail at ever destroying the veils that separate the realms.”
“Or you destroy the playbook and don’t give them any ideas.” I had partially ripped a page when he pulled the book from my hand, protecting it.
“Kara.” The long, exasperated sigh that accompanied my name was tinged with frustration at the spell’s failure and me not buying in to his lessons. “Leave it. I’m not speaking from cruelty or indifference but from centuries of experience. Please, leave it be.”
“I don’t see your vision,” I admitted.
“But I see your defiance. I won’t let you destroy it. Okay?”
Whatever he saw in my face didn’t invoke enough confidence for him to return the book to its original location.
Keeping hold of it, he looked over the outside of the third book.
The thin cover was made of bark. Cirrian ran his fingers over the uneven texture, while illuminated vines crawled through the knots of it.
The scent of soil after rain wafted from the book.
My fingers followed Cirrian’s, taking in the warmth of the book.
Bound with twine, there seemed to be an intent and pattern to the weave.
“What awful spells are in you?” Cirrian whispered. The only consistent thing in this house of dread was Diehle’s fiendish motif.
He opened the book to blank pages, each one just a sheet of papyrus. Could an empty page taunt? It felt that way. Cirrian scoffed, shaking his head at the empty pages.
“Diehle was a horrid creature,” I said. From what little I knew of him, this play was consistent with his personality.
A spell that withheld the most valuable information from anyone who’d stumble upon his death.
It could have been a retaliatory measure.
In the event of his death, his most valuable spellbooks would be erased.
Frowning, I touched the book, and the pages slowly filled with curls, symbols, and loops.
“What does this mean?” I asked Cirrian. The symbols meant nothing to me, and the language didn’t resemble anything I’d seen.
Abandoning his protection of the second book, Cirrian quickly returned it to its original location.
Returning to me, he lifted the third book.
The moment I no longer had contact with it, the book’s spells disappeared.
He placed the book on the stand and laced his fingers through mine, then brought my hand to his lips.
His warm lips brushed against me, but there was an obvious lack of movement.
“Are you performing a spell?”
“No, kissing your hand,” he emoted in a tone absent of any emotion although the heat in his eyes promised more.
“Why do you keep playing with me?” I asked when his lips parted and pressed another tantalizing kiss along my hand. A shiver ran through me and thoughts of those kisses moving further occupied my mind.
His voice dropped low. “Not playing, I’m tasting you.
” His eyes darkened, and his lips curled into a suggestive smile.
Slowly he pointed his other hand to the book.
Unlacing my fingers from his, I touched the book, smiling hugely as all the symbols and words reappeared.
It was the closest to performing magic I’d experienced, and it was exhilarating.
My hand flattened against the paper, the heat of the words offering comfort and optimism that had been chipped away to nothing.
“Why are you here?” The demanding female’s voice boomed with power. The ceiling reverberated above us as someone or something crashed overhead.
“I could ask the same of you,” a menacing voice challenged.
Discordant violent sounds followed: glass breaking, scrapes, and a heavy mass slamming into the voice.
More voices joined the row. Panic filled me when I realized we hadn’t closed the door and the violence would probably find its way to us.
“The vultures are circling. Diehle’s death has been discovered.” Moving quickly, Cirrian grabbed the spellbook and handed it to me. “I’m taking you home.”
It wasn’t the request I asked for, but at least I had some idea of what was about to happen before the heat pulsed from the binding mark, revealing itself for a beat before I was plunged into darkness. Moments later, I was in the middle of my living room.
“You gave me the book,” I said, securing my claim to magic to my chest. He disappeared without answering, returning breathless with my pink bonnet. He grinned. “Not sure if it’s your favorite, but I don’t want any hair fibers used as a way to find you,” he said.
Cradling the book to me, I was reluctant to lose my hold on it. He smirked at whatever defiance was in my expression. There would be a fight if he even considered taking it away.
He dropped the bonnet on the closest table. “It is yours. The book spoke to you, so I’d like you to figure out how to respond. Are you willing to do that?”
There were no words to express how much I was willing to do for this book. I’d claimed it. Whether real or not, I felt a kindred bond with it. It was my book. My magic. Mine to protect.
I nodded.
“Good. Now, I’d like to see who claims Diehle’s estate. Bye.”
Before he could leave, I said, “We don’t need a demon in this territory.”
He flashed a grin. “There’s that darkness. It peeks its head out at the most peculiar times.” His intrigue was palpable. A blink, and he was gone to become an amused observer of the takeover. A new demon who would be the agent of chaos and the exploiter of desperation.