Chapter Seventeen

Melodie watched through bleary eyes as Calypso unfastened the cuffs which held her to Blake DeWitt’s bed. The events of the night before teased her conscience, and once again shame weighed heavily on her.

“I did it again, Cal. I threw myself at Blake.”

“And you ended up handcuffed to his bed. Not bad for a night’s work, in my book.” Calypso grinned sympathetically as she rubbed Mel’s sore wrists and helped her to sit up.

“Don’t joke about it. He seems to think I’m possessed. Do you think that? Is there some demon inside me along with the gem?”

“No. I think over the years the Cabochon has absorbed a lot of demon essence. That remark you made about being a Melodie-demon isn’t far from the truth. You’re unique, honey. You’re taking on demon characteristics from the stone, and they’re making you a little bit crazy. That’s all.”

Mel ran shaking fingers through her hair. “I don’t want to be a little bit crazy or any crazy. I want to go back to work. I want to taste something. I want to sleep without dreaming of Fremlings.”

“You will, soon. There are a couple of things we need to talk about first, though.”

“Like what?” Mel vaulted off the bed. As usual, after a long sleep, she felt revitalized and not at all demony. How long would this period of normalcy last though? She remembered the burn she’d suffered as a result of Calypso’s ward and rubbed at the spot on her arm where the injury had been. “Whatever it is, can we discuss it at my place? I want to take a shower and get changed and—”

She’d almost reached the door when Calypso grabbed her arm. “Don’t. Stay right here.”

“Why?”

“I warded the rest of DeWitt’s house. You can’t leave this room.”

Mel yanked her hand out of Cal’s grip. “What? Now you’re in on it? You’re going to keep me locked up here for how long?”

“Just a few days, until the Council makes a decision. They’ll come up with something, Mel. You have to trust them.”

“Trust them? I don’t even know them. Let me talk to them, Cal. Why can’t I go and talk to them?”

“It’s not that simple. I’m sorry, Mel. I know this sucks, but you’re in a lot of danger. The demon breeds will know about the Cabochon, and they’re all going to come looking for you.”

Mel narrowed her eyes. “But they can’t hurt me.”

“Some of them can. Just because you heal fast doesn’t mean you can’t be killed, and if another demon gets hold of the Cabochon, DeWitt may never be able to break the curse.” Cal put her hands on Mel’s shoulders. The contact served only to irritate her, but she endured it. “Mel, you’re his only chance. If anything happens to you…”

“Why do I have to stay here? Can’t you unward my place?”

“It’s just better if you’re here, away from people who might start asking questions.”

Mel paced. Something didn’t feel right. Not that being held prisoner should ever feel right, but for the first time since they’d met, she didn’t quite trust Calypso. Clearly her friend was hiding something.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing. I’m telling you everything I know.”

Mel didn’t buy it. “Are you sure?”

Cal crossed her fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

“That’s not scout’s honor. It’s three fingers, not two.”

Calypso uncrossed her fingers. “Mel, please, trust me.”

“That’s what Blake said too. I’m not sure who to trust. I just want to go home. I promise I’ll behave.”

“You can’t promise that, Mel. You’re not in control. Come on, sit down and relax. I’ll bring you some breakfast, and we’ll talk. I’ve cooked up a little potion that should help you keep the demon tendencies at bay. I also brought you some clothes from your place and…uh-oh.”

“What uh-oh?”

“I need to adjust the wards a little bit if you want to go to the bathroom. Sorry about that. Sit tight, I’ll be right back.”

Mel gaped as Calypso slipped out the bedroom door. She would have run after her, but even though her skin showed no evidence of the ward burn, the memory of the pain it caused lingered. Instead she placed herself just inside the threshold and yelled down the hall. “You owe me big-time for this, Calypso Smith! Big time!”

 

 

Every bone in Percival’s body ached. His tortured muscles screamed, but still he refused to acknowledge his own agony.

He’d rather die than profess his weakness to a demon, even one as stunningly beautifully as the Domaré queen. He’d rather have died than do many things, and maybe tonight, before sunrise stole his breath again, he’d get his fondest wish.

When the dark-haired woman approached him, he strained against the leather straps that bound him to the wall of her boudoir.

“Tut, tut, my lord. Don’t struggle so. I’ll set you free very soon.” Her voice rode over his frayed nerves like a balm, as smoky as the incense-heavy air in her abode. Violet eyes appraised him almost lovingly as she ran a manicured hand over his naked chest.

Despite himself, Percival flinched at her touch. “If you’re going to kill me, do so quickly. I have no patience for your games.”

She laughed, a bright sound more suited to the genteel parlor of a noblewoman than the lair of a demon. Percival struggled to remind himself that in daylight hours this creature walked the streets of Paris with her head high as a beloved member of society. At night, though, she crawled in the dirt beneath this abandoned abbey, presiding over a nest of her kind, and she reveled in their desecration of what had once been holy ground.

“My dear Percival, I have no intention of killing you. Truly. Your death would bring me no pleasure. In fact, just the opposite is true. I’d love for you to live well beyond your mortal years. Each day you survive is another opportunity for you to repent your sins.”

Percival spat, and the demon queen stepped back to spare her delicate silken slippers from his own desecration.

“You were a gentleman once, my lord. You would do well to remember your upbringing.”

“And what were you once? Human? Were you born to live life in the sunlight and corrupted somehow? Or were you truly spawned in darkness?” He’d chased demons so long, learned so much about their various breeds, he thought himself jaded on the subject, but these lovely ones, the Domaré, they brought a new dimension to his obsession.

If a beautiful woman such as Lady Arabel, with her raven hair and beguiling eyes, her ethereal features and melodic voice, could be, underneath her silks and satins, a creature of such vile origin, then anyone could be.

For all Percival knew, he was the only truly human being left in all of Europe. That thought chilled his blood.

Arabel smiled at him. “I’m of noble birth, my lord. Higher than yourself, in fact, and born and raised as any other woman of my station. I suckled at my mother’s breast. I played with porcelain dolls and dressed my hair in satin ribbons. I ate cakes and learned the waltz, and I’ve pricked my finger many a time while attempting to embroider. My blood is red like yours, and my tears taste like salt.”

“And yet you are not human.”

Arabel paced. Her skirts scraped the cold stone floor of the chamber in which she’d held him hostage for half the night. “No. Not human at all. Unlike my society sisters, I will live for more than a century, and I will bear two dozen or more offspring. Most of them will be male. Females of my kind are scarce, and we are exalted. It’s sad that human women are considered a step beneath their men, pretty but disposable.”

Percival tore his gaze away from Arabel. He’d already spent too long lost in the spell of her eyes. “If you don’t plan to kill me, what then?”

“I plan to strike a bargain.” Arabel stopped her pacing. She stood straight and tall before him, a statuesque vision in lavender silk. Demurely, she twirled a fat curl through her fingers, but the set of her carefully painted lips belied the darkness in her soul.

“I doubt you and I could reach agreeable terms on anything, my lady.”

“Oh, but I’m sure we can. You want the power that will one day be my inheritance. I know you chase the gem that controls your curse, and I know you would kill for it.”

“That is true. What, then, can you possibly offer me besides your life and by extension, my own?” Percival yanked hard on the leather straps. The pain helped him focus. A month tracking the gem through France had brought him to Arabel’s lair. Another fortnight would see the object safely transferred to her care, unless he stopped it.

Arabel sighed. “I have only this to offer—the life of your precious son.”

Rene! Percival bridled. How dare she threaten his child. “You would harm a boy—”

“No! No. Of course not harm him, my lord. Do I look like a monster?” She laughed at the irony of her remark. “I would not harm him. I would enchant him and conspire to see him mated to a daughter of my kind. Wouldn’t you like that, dear Percival? Your son as husband to a demon, father to a Domaré child?”

Bile rose, burning Percival’s throat. “My son would never!” Before he completed his thought, Arabel brought her sinful lips to his and kissed his breath away.

A longing like he’d never felt stirred his loins. His heart filled with an emotion he hadn’t experienced since the last time he’d raced to meet Rebecca in the glen so many years ago. Hot tears sprang to his eyes.

When she pulled back, the loss of her magical touch left a pain in his heart that rivaled any ache or injury he’d ever suffered.

For a moment, she’d made him love her.

“Do you see, my lord? Your son will do whatever he has to for the love of the Domaré woman I choose for him. She can enslave him with a kiss, or not, depending on whether you accept my bargain. And be aware, my death will not stop this plan if I decide to put it in motion this evening.”

Percival slumped, and the leather bit into his bruised wrists. “He’s just a child.”

“Now, yes. But he’ll be a man soon enough, and we can wait.”

“What do you want?”

“Nothing.” Arabel caressed his sweaty brow and his heaving chest. “I want nothing from you. Not a word. Not a sign. Not a glimpse of you anywhere near my home, my family or any of my clan. I know you earn your living hunting the lesser demon breeds, and that is not my concern. Do as you will to the others, but make me this promise that you will never touch a Domaré, and I shall make you the promise that neither will your son.”

Percival hung his head.

“I didn’t hear your answer, my lord. Please speak up.”

“I said yes. Yes. I will leave your kind alone.”

“Excellent.” Arabel reached up to unfasten the evil straps.

Percival’s arms dropped, bloodless, to his sides, and he sank to his knees. The scent of jasmine reached him, and his heart clenched with the remnants of her insidious love spell.

“Now, go home to your boy, my lord. Give him the one precious thing you still possess.”

Percival wiped stinging sweat from his eyes and glared up at his nemesis. “And what is that, my lady?”

She bent at her cinched waist and cupped his chin in her soft hand. “Your time, dear Percival. Your time.”

 

 

Calypso left Blake’s house at noon, promising she’d be back before her shift at Gleason’s.

Mel paced the confines of Blake’s bedroom, occasionally venturing into the small section of hallway Calypso had “unwarded” between the bedroom and the bathroom. Calypso’s calming potion had done little but taste bad and make her sleepy for an hour or two. Now the magick panacea seemed to have worn off, leaving her more jittery than before. With nothing to do but watch television until sunset, she’d go completely insane.

The frustration of captivity had her wrestling with the power of the Cabochon. It seemed to reside in the pit of her stomach, a hard dark nodule that, when she concentrated on it, made her feel both desperate and invincible at the same time.

It scared her to think what might happen if she unleashed it all at once and what might happen if she completely relinquished control. As long as the sun shone brightly outside the bedroom window, she had a tenuous hold on reality, but something in her longed for the darkness. Just like Blake, she’d begun to live only at night.

She was poking one of Calypso’s ward stones with the tip of a ski pole she’d found in Blake’s closet when she heard the front door open downstairs.

“Hello? Cal, is that you?”

She raced into the hall and craned her neck to try to see down the staircase. A shadow fell across the entranceway below, and Palmer appeared, carrying a box from DeLio’s Pizza and a six-pack of soda. She nearly wept with relief.

“Hey, Melodie. It’s my shift. Sorry I’m a little late.”

“Your shift?” She snatched the pizza box from him and retreated into the bedroom. “There are demon-sitting shifts?”

“Yeah. I hope you like pepperoni. I can hang out a little while, until sunset; then it’s DeWitt’s turn.”

Mel set the pizza on the bed and waved away Palmer’s offer of a cola. “Palmer, please get me out of here. I don’t want to sit around waiting to go all Exorcist.”

“You’re not going to go Exorcist. This is for your own safety. Really.”

Mel had always considered herself above using feminine wiles to get what she wanted, but desperate times and all. She thought about the dismal hours spent by herself in DeWitt’s bedroom without even access to a phone, and her eyes misted. “Palmer, I can’t go on like this. What about your spell? Is it ready?”

“Almost. I’ve finished the research, and I’ve translated the incantations.”

“So what’s the holdup? Why can’t we do it now?”

“It has to be done at night.”

“Well, how am I going to get away from DeWitt after sunset? If we’re going to perform the spell, I’ve got to get away from here now. Please, Palmer. Don’t make me wait around until the Council decides what to do. I can’t spend another night handcuffed to Blake’s bed.”

Palmer glanced at the bed. “He handcuffed you to the bed?”

She nodded, hoping he could see the tears welling in her eyes. She hated to manipulate him, but she hated being a prisoner more. “All we need to do is move a couple of the ward stones. I tried poking them with this.” She held up the ski pole. “But I get a shock. You could just pick them up in your hands and move them, and I could leave.”

“Where would you go?” Palmer glanced at the bed again.

Mel thought of mentioning the kiss she’d shared with DeWitt just to capitalize on what appeared to be Palmer’s latent jealousy, but the memory of that encounter made her skin tingle and the back of her knees sweat a little. Better not to think of Blake at all. “Home? Anywhere. It doesn’t matter. I promise I’ll come back later—if your spell doesn’t work.”

Finally he met her gaze. “I don’t know, Melodie. I’ve got everything lined up, but I don’t have a demon yet. Without something to transfer the Cabochon to…”

Mel eyed the window. “I can get a demon. The Fremlings. I can get a Fremling to follow me anywhere.”

Palmer shook his head. “No. Bad idea. They swarm. And besides, they’re not smart enough to handle the Cabochon. It would be like giving a rat a grenade.”

Mel sighed and sank to the bed. “You’re right. We don’t know what the Cabochon would do to a Fremling. I’m better off here, chained to Blake’s bed.” She ran her fingers over the nearest metal cuff, somewhat lovingly, she thought.

Palmer paced. Clearly the thought of her and Blake together in any intimate setting made the demon hunter uncomfortable.

“Please?”

After a few turns around the room, he lost his inner battle. “Okay, I’ll let you out. You can’t go to your place, though. That’s the first place they’ll look, and I don’t really want Calypso mad at me.”

“How about your lair? No one knows where it is.”

“That’ll do. You’ll have to stay out of sight until dark. I’ll see if I can get the DHN to line up another demon for us by dark.”

“DHN?”

“Demon Hunters’ Network. Stay here a second.” Palmer left the bedroom, kicking Calypso’s black ward stones away from the threshold as he went. Mel followed him into the hall, where he slid several more of the polished river stones around on the hardwood floor until Mel had a clear shot for the stairs. She followed him downstairs and waited at the landing while he moved a few more stones, clearing her path to the front door.

Mel approached freedom with cautious steps. She would never forget the pain of the ward burn. She tapped the air within the door frame and nothing happened. No snap, crackle or pop.

Palmer grinned. “That was easy.”

Mel hugged him, a quick, chaste gesture of thanks. “You’re the best. Come on, let’s get out of here before Calypso comes back.”

“Wait.” Palmer grabbed her arm, and for a second, Mel feared he might have changed his mind. She couldn’t blame him, after all, for fearing a witch’s wrath, but with freedom so close she could taste it, there wasn’t time for second thoughts.

“Whatever it is, don’t worry about it, Palmer. Let’s just go.”

“We’d better take the pizza. I have a feeling we’ll need to keep our strength up.”