Demon Born

by Christine Pope

  And she had been delectable.

  He was not even sure why he had done it, except she had looked so sad and tired, and yet so exquisitely lovely, that it had seemed the most natural thing in the world to bend down and touch his lips to hers. Perhaps the human body he had been wearing had also contributed to the act, its own hormones driving him to do something he would not otherwise consider.

  Well, that was a pretty fiction, anyway. If he were going to be completely honest with himself, though, he would recall how he had thought of Catalina Castillo as he made his lonely way through this world, how visions of her beautiful face and the kindness in her dark eyes had visited him even during the times when he had taken back his natural form to give himself some respite. He might not have wanted to acknowledge it, but even his demon body had experienced desire for her, his soul aching for hers in a need he knew he could never explain.

  Had such a thing ever happened before? Loc could not say for certain; his existence had spanned century upon century, and he had met beings and entities from a variety of worlds, and yet until he had met Cat, he had never thought of his life as a lonely one, had never looked on a human as anything except a form of life far below his. Was he not the Lord of Chaos? Did he not command legions of lesser demons? Had he not visited world after world and known they must answer to his command? A single human being could never compare to that kind of power.

  And yet, strangely, Cat Castillo did.

  The night air flowed over his wings, enticing, but he knew better than to take to the skies, even in as sparsely populated an area as this. It was one thing to fly from the balcony outside his window up to the roof directly above, and quite another to go drifting over the houses and ranches and the slow-moving river he could smell not quite a mile away. In this world, people had drones and surveillance systems and all manner of technology that might lock on to his presence. He could keep people away from Cat’s property so they might have some privacy, but he could not keep the entire world at bay once he left this haven.

  Well, he would just have to resume his search with a vengeance the next day. Where that search would take him, he wasn’t sure, since he had already exhausted most of the likely prospects. Clearly, Cat wasn’t willing to let their relationship advance any further, not when she knew it had no chance of lasting, and so there was very little else he could do.

  Because of course he could not allow himself to consider the possibility of staying here with her….

  Her mouth tasted gummy, and there was a crick in her neck, as if she’d spent far too much of the night before sleeping in the wrong position. Actually, she couldn’t remember very much of what she’d done after she’d gotten to her room and shut the door. Her clothes and shoes had been dropped carelessly to the floor instead of being put in the hamper or returned to the closet, and that wasn’t like her. Neither was sleeping in just her panties, but that was all she had on when she woke up.

  For all she knew, she hadn’t even brushed her teeth before she collapsed into bed. That would account for the gumminess in her mouth and the overwhelming feeling of ick that seemed to surround her as she pushed herself up from the bed.

  Or maybe that was because she’d let a demon kiss her the night before…and that she’d kissed him back.

  Demon lord, she reminded herself, going into the bathroom so she could start the water running for her shower. Even with all the new plumbing she’d put in, it still took a minute or two to get comfortable. Wouldn’t want anyone to think you were slumming with a regular old garden-variety demon.

  Somehow, that thought didn’t cheer her up very much at all.

  And now what? Loc had said he was going to resume his search, so if she was lucky, he wouldn’t be around much, but even so, things were probably going to be a teensy bit awkward until that time when he actually found someone to help him.

  What if he doesn’t? Cat asked herself, kneading shampoo into her scalp with a bit too much vigor. Are you going to let him crash here indefinitely?

  She wasn’t sure how to answer that, although some traitorous part of her mind muttered that if he never located a way to get home, then that would solve their current situation pretty neatly, since her biggest issue had been that she didn’t want to get involved with someone she knew was going to disappear in the near future.

  Then she wanted to laugh at herself. Yes, the biggest problem was Loc not sticking around, and not the fact that he just happened to be a demon lord.

  Even though Cat knew it was probably smarter to keep quiet and hope that her demonic house guest would leave sooner rather than later, she found herself wishing she could talk to Miranda about all this. Funny how she immediately thought of her sister-in-law as a possible confidant, rather than her own flesh-and-blood sisters, but neither Louisa nor Malena had ever been much of a comfort. They were enough older that they tended to view her problems as inconsequential, or at least something that experience would have told her would blow over soon enough.

  I can just imagine the lecture I’d get from Louisa, Cat thought as she rinsed the last of the conditioner out of her hair. Letting myself fall for a demon lord? I’d never hear the end of it.

  Whereas Miranda seemed a lot more likely to be sympathetic. After all, her relationship with Rafe hadn’t run all that smoothly in the beginning either, although at least Rafe was a normal human warlock and not a demonic being from another dimension.

  Sigh.

  Cat decided to forego the blow dryer and the curling iron, and instead worked some serum through her hair in the hope that it would dry into passable waves on its own. The weather had been humid enough lately that she didn’t hold out any great hope, but she was so on edge this morning that the thought of spending another half hour on her hair was intolerable.

  Of course, being so quick to get ready also meant that she’d have to face Loc that much sooner. If he hadn’t already disappeared for the day. He could have already headed off to Oslo or Vancouver or Timbuktu.

  Or Poughkeepsie.

  Her lips twitched a little, even though she was in no mood to be amused. Right then, she was still angry with Loc for kissing her…and angry at herself for responding rather than shutting him down the second he tried to make a move.

  She looked in the mirror and scowled at her reflection. Those were definitely some dark circles under her eyes, but she wasn’t going to bother with any concealer. She likewise scorned the mascara and lip gloss. Might as well go downstairs looking like complete and utter crap. With any luck, she would scare Loc off so completely that he wouldn’t spare another glance on her.

  When she went down to the kitchen, though, it was deserted, with no sign that Loc had been here at all this morning. True, with the way he could snap his fingers or twitch his nose or whatever else it was he did, he could have made himself a whole pancake breakfast and she would have been none the wiser. The door to his room had stood open, the bed completely unrumpled, so she knew he wasn’t up there, either.

  Then she caught sight of a small piece of white paper sitting on the island in the kitchen. She went over to it, saw the delicate scroll pattern at the corners of the paper, and realized it was one of the little notepapers she kept in their own matching box. That box usually was hidden away in one of the drawers of the sideboard in the dining room, but clearly Loc hadn’t had any trouble finding it.

  The piece of paper contained one word, written in careful block letters.

  Searching.

  To anyone else, that single word would have seemed completely cryptic, but Cat thought she knew what it meant. Just as he’d said he would, Loc had gone off somewhere to continue his quest for the one person who could send him home.

  As she stared down at the paper, a burst of anger went through her, and she crumpled the little note in her hand. Why she was so upset, she really didn’t know, because this was what she’d wanted him to do, after all.

  Wasn’t it?

  Since Cat really didn’t want to answer that question,
she threw the wadded-up piece of paper into the trash and headed over to the coffeemaker. Once it was going and the rich scent of brewing coffee began to fill the kitchen, she’d calmed down a little. She knew she needed to get into a better head space, or she’d never be able to focus on her work today. Now she only had four days to finish up the two pieces she was entering in the competition, since everything had to be submitted by five o’clock on the Thursday before the show started.

  A few sips of coffee did help to improve her mood somewhat. She went to the kitchen window and looked out just in time to see Roberto and Miguel pull up in their big white pickup truck. Well, at least all the mess from the night before had been cleared away, so she wouldn’t have to explain why the patio still looked like a bomb hit it.

  Right then, she felt more tired than anything, despite the coffee. She didn’t want to have to go out and say hello to her vineyard manager and his son, and she really didn’t want to go out to her studio and get any work done. What she really felt like doing was to get her emergency carton of Moose Tracks ice cream out of the freezer, then sit in the TV room and slowly consume the carton’s contents while she watched every stupid rom-com she could find on her various on-demand channels. If nothing else, it might make her feel better to know that all those fictional heroines found their happily-ever-afters, even if they’d started out in even direr straits than Cat was now in.

  Of course, none of those rom-com heroines had lip-locked with a demon lord, either.

  Mouth tight, she forced herself to go over to the fridge and get out a carton of yogurt. Even though it was her favorite organic brand with blackberry fruit on the bottom, she couldn’t muster any particular enthusiasm about eating it.

  Despite herself, she couldn’t help wondering what Loc was up to.

  He sat at an outside table at the Café du Monde, eating a beignet and sipping a cup of chicory coffee as he watched the world go by. If asked, Loc wasn’t precisely sure he could say what he was doing there. Something had drawn him back to New Orleans, even though he knew he had nothing substantive to offer Nicholas Toulouse yet. Yes, now he knew that the books were being kept somewhere in Santa Fe, but that piece of information was far too flimsy to offer to the warlock currently holed up a few miles away in the Garden District.

  But at least Loc had put some distance between himself and Cat, and that could only be a good thing. Perhaps it had been cowardly to flee so early this morning, but he hadn’t wished to confront her before he had a chance to think about what he truly wanted. A night of restless sleep hadn’t provided any answers, and so it seemed best to get away for a while.

  He thought of the warlock who desired Simon Escobar’s books — well, to be fair, the books Escobar had stolen from the de la Paz clan. And then he couldn’t help thinking about the young woman he’d clearly enslaved, the youngest daughter of the Dubois clan’s prima.

  Surely she should be rescued and taken back to her family, but Loc knew that if he undertook such a venture, he would incur Nicholas Toulouse’s wrath, and that could only mean the end of any partnership between the two of them.

  Would that be such a bad thing? he wondered. After all, the only thing you have from him are promises. There is a very great chance that he will have you bring the books — once you’ve located them — and then offer nothing in return.

  Doing such a thing would be very dangerous, for even though Loc wore a human body, he still retained all his powers. He could blast Toulouse into the next plane of existence if he so desired. Of course, if he did something like that, then he would have to begin his search all over again. The dark warlock was the only one Loc had encountered so far who claimed to have the power and skill necessary to cast such a spell, and although Loc commanded many powers of his own, he could only affect the dark warlock physically, couldn’t force him to cast his spell. No, as unpleasant as the prospect was, he would have to be bribed with the grimoire.

  Which was why Loc had to tread carefully. If Toulouse were gone….

  You might be exiled here forever, Loc thought.

  Exiled in a place where he would be trapped in this human form. There were no kingdoms here for him to command, no legions of willing demons to build him temples and fortresses and palaces. He would be ordinary, nothing.

  And that was why he knew he must go back, even though his own world had no such beauties as this one, no blue skies, no bright sparkling streams or golden-hued autumn trees or snow-capped mountains.

  And no Cat.

  He scowled and drank some more coffee, then took another bite from his beignet. To tell the truth, he thought it far too sweet and could not see why humans made such a fuss about the place, although he did have to admit that the view here was spectacular. And as varied and interesting as Santa Fe might be, it still could not come close to the parade that passed by on the sidewalks of Decatur Street, tourists and musicians and street performers and artists milling about Jackson Square or heading down the various side streets to have their own adventures.

  A young woman strolled by hand in hand with her companion, a handsome black man in a loose white shirt and khaki trousers. The woman — girl, really, probably no more than twenty — had long blonde hair almost the same honey color as Celeste Dubois, and Loc found himself frowning.

  If nothing else, he needed to know more about how the prima’s daughter had ended up in the hands of such a monster. More than once during his travels, he’d seen young women forced into terrible circumstances and had stopped himself from intervening, knowing that he was not a crusader, but for a witch to be trapped in such a situation troubled him more than he wanted to admit.

  He wore no watch and didn’t own a phone, but Loc knew it was now almost ten o’clock in the morning. By the time he’d walked the few blocks to the jewelry store where he’d purchased the emerald necklace for Cat, the shop should have opened. He had to hope that the same witch would be working there today, because he thought he might be able to get some answers from her. If this was not her day to work, he would have to start all over again with someone new.

  Plan fixed in his mind, he put a ten-dollar bill down on the tabletop and set his plate partly on top of it so the wind wouldn’t blow it away. Then he got up from his chair and began heading north on St. Ann Street, going deeper into the heart of the Quarter.

  The crowds grew even thicker as he approached Bourbon Street, but soon enough he was on the other side and had turned down onto Dauphine, where things appeared to be a little quieter. Soon enough, Loc spied the brick building with black shutters that housed the jewelry store he sought.

  And there on the front stoop was the witch he had met before, the gold rings in her braided black hair glimmering in the morning sunlight. She had just finished watering the geraniums in the window boxes, apparently, for she had a tin watering can in one hand.

  Her eyes met his. Loc could see the way she startled, but she held her ground, remained standing there as he approached. Tone wry, she said, “Why did I have a feelin’ I hadn’t seen the last of you?”

  “I have a question,” he said, and she raised the hand that wasn’t holding the watering can.

  “Not here,” she warned him. “Come inside.”

  He didn’t waste time with protests, but followed her into the shop. All seemed to be very much the same here, although he noted that the spot the emerald necklace had occupied was now filled by a heavy gold and turquoise and enamel collar in the Egyptian Revival style.

  “Your friend didn’t like the necklace?” the witch asked.

  Loc thought of the way the necklace had draped around the smooth, lightly tanned skin of Cat’s throat…how soft that skin had been when he touched it as he fastened the jewels at the back of her neck. Forcing that image — and the arousal that threatened to stir in him — aside, he said, “No, she liked it very much. I’ve come here about something else.”

  The woman’s full lips thinned. “You saw him, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, I did,” Loc repli
ed smoothly. “How could I not, after you were so kind to give me directions?”

  “Well, it seems you lived to tell the tale, so I don’t know what else you need from me.”

  Despite the briskness of her words, he could tell she was troubled; her eyes wouldn’t precisely meet his, and she seemed preoccupied with wiping down the surface of the display case, even though it looked immaculate to him. “I want you to tell me about her.”

  “Her who?” But still the witch was looking down at the glass of the case, preoccupied with a smudge that didn’t exist.

  “Celeste Dubois. The prima’s daughter.”

  The rag came to a halt on the top of the case, pressed flat by a hand whose knuckles showed pale against the witch’s dark skin. “Don’t be sayin’ her name,” she said. “Probably better if you don’t even think it.”

  “Why not?” Loc pressed. “Surely the prima must want her daughter back.”

  “No, sir,” the woman replied. “That girl is dead to her.”

  “‘Dead’?” Loc repeated. “Why? I could tell that she was in Nic — ”

  “Don’t say it. Don’t even think his name.”

  Loc wanted to shake his head at the admonition, because he knew that even if Nicholas Toulouse were suddenly to appear in this shop, summoned by his name as the witch seemed to think, then Loc could drive him off easily enough. However, as he didn’t want to waste his time on arguments, he lifted his shoulders and said, “Very well. At any rate, it seemed obvious enough to me that she was under some sort of spell, that she certainly wasn’t there of her own volition. Surely your prima would understand that, and not blame her daughter for her actions?”

  “You’re the one who doesn’t understand,” the woman replied. “Celeste should have been able to withstand him. The problem was, she didn’t want to.”

  Loc frowned at her words, not sure what she meant.

  “It’s not a pretty story,” the witch said. “Celeste was always headstrong, always wanted more, even though she was the prima’s daughter and could have had pretty much anything she wanted. Problem was, what she wanted was more power, or at least the opportunity to use her own powers more. She didn’t like bein’ told to hide her abilities, even though every witch and warlock alive knows that’s the only reason our clans have been able to survive down through the centuries. Well, Celeste found out about him, and was intrigued. Didn’t matter that he was old enough to be her father, and dabbled in magic that had turned his soul black. So she went to him, and let him make her his own.”