I let the conversation lull as I thought about that. Given the circumstances of the humans’ arrival here, I really wasn’t sure what to expect. The cluster of buildings we were heading toward looked more like a rustic village than a jail, but were these people denizens of Hell, or prisoners of it?
There was only one way to find out.
Nigellus left me to my thoughts as we hiked down the slope and into the valley. I gathered he spent most of his time on Earth, and I wondered if he missed this place. The idea of being truly immortal was a hard one to take in. Even if Nigellus had spent the entirety of human civilization on Earth, it would still be only a tiny fraction of his lifespan to date.
Nope, even with a demon grandfather, I wasn’t going to be able to wrap my mostly human brain around that one anytime soon. I’d barely been able to grasp the idea of someone being born in the Middle Ages—
Aaand… now I was thinking about Rans again.
Fortunately, we’d crossed the final distance to the closest of the buildings, and were starting to attract attention. A boy of perhaps ten years of age poked his head out of one of the small huts. He had freckles and messy brown hair, his plain clothing covering him from neck to knee. His eyes were wide and blue.
“Run and find someone on the Council,” Nigellus told him. “Tell them that there is a new guest, and we will meet them at the hall.”
The child nodded and hared off without a word, bare feet slapping against the dirt road.
I gazed after him. “Who takes care of the children?” I asked. “There must be a fair number of them, if most of the tithelings are babies.”
“Demons cared for the first arrivals,” Nigellus said. “But human children grow to be human adults in scarcely the blink of an eye. And, the problems on Earth aside, I’ve found humans to be a generous species by and large. Subsequent tithelings have been adopted and cared for by those who came before.”
I nodded, but I still wasn’t sure I understood the point of continuing the Tithe from the demons’ perspective. They’d wanted Fae children, but the Fae had outmaneuvered them. Why take on the responsibility of caring for all these people?
“Are these people all demon-bound?” I asked, because that might explain things. Grow your own power source right in your backyard, where no one had to worry about the pesky treaty provisions regarding interference on Earth.
“No,” Nigellus said, surprising me. “There’s no specific rule against it, but to bind them as a matter of course always seemed… crass, I suppose you’d say. They’re already the victims of other races’ political machinations. Why add insult to injury?”
“Hmm,” I replied in a noncommittal tone, wishing I could get a better read on this whole situation.
Nigellus cut a sideways glance at me. “In case I didn’t make it clear before, your father is welcome to live out his days here in safety. It’s a simple life—far simpler than most humans find life on Earth to be. However, not everyone considers that a bad thing.” He paused as we approached a larger structure—long and narrow with adobe walls and a tile roof. “But soon you will see for yourself, and be able to craft your own opinions.”
He gestured me inside the open door, and I gathered this was the meeting hall he’d referred to earlier. The inside was cool and shadowed, lit only by natural light from the windows, as far as I could tell. There was a table at the far end, large and rectangular with more than a dozen chairs set around it. A matronly female figure leaned hipshot against the table’s edge, her head cocked as she examined us.
Her skin was olive and her black hair was streaked with gray. She had a strong forehead and heavy eyebrows, her appearance making me think she was probably of Indian or Pakistani descent. She pushed away from the table as we approached, tipping her chin up in greeting.
“Brought us another, have you?” she asked Nigellus. “The rest of the shipment arrived more than a day ago.”
I wasn’t too keen on hearing human beings—my father among them—referred to as a shipment, but there was nothing cold or hostile in the woman’s voice. Merely curious.
“Zorah is not part of the Tithe, Fatima,” Nigellus said. “Though her father is.”
Fatima looked at me with new interest. “Is that so, child?”
I nodded. “Yes. I’d like to see him as soon as possible. Is he well?”
She regarded me, her brows drawing together. “We don’t get many coming in as adults,” she said carefully. “Being held by the Enemy is hard enough on the little ones, but minds like his—minds that are already set in their ways—they’re not designed to take the strain. The Enemy’s magic twists up the inside of their heads.”
I bit the inside of my cheek, using the self-inflicted pain to distract myself from the ache of knowing how badly Dad had been broken. When I was sure my voice would be steady, I said, “Yes. I realize he’s… not quite right, mentally. But otherwise?”
Fatima shrugged. “He’s healthy enough. Seems like someone was looking after him in… the other place.”
“Probably the cat-sidhe,” I murmured, taking note of how Fatima referred to Dhuinne and its people. “So, I take it the Fae won’t be winning any popularity contests here?”
Her expression soured. “They stole us as babes, changed us with their magic so we could never go back to our families, and then sent us here as tribute to their most hated foes. No, they are not very popular here.”
“My father went back, though,” I said. “To Earth, when he was a baby, I mean.”
Fatima tilted her head. “Did he, indeed? Must not’ve been in the Enemy’s realm for very long, in that case.” She shuddered a bit. “Poor bloke, getting hauled there twice in one lifetime. No wonder he’s given up.”
My fists clenched. “He hasn’t given up. You can’t know that. You said he’s only been here a day!”
“Zorah…” Nigellus said, even as Fatima gave me the sort of bland smile that doctors in hospitals gave the families of terminally ill patients.
“I didn’t mean to upset you, child. No doubt you’re right. Whatever the case, we look after our own, so you needn’t worry about him getting the care he requires.”
“I want to see him now,” I stated firmly.
Fatima nodded. “That’s easily arranged. In fact, if you’ll be staying, we’ll put you right in the same hut with him.” Her eyes flicked to Nigellus, as if seeking his input about my long-term plans.
“Yes, I’m staying,” I told her, ignoring both the twinge of pain at the knowledge that I’d be staying here alone, and the wave of trepidation at the idea of trying to cohabitate with my father again after all this time.
God… the man had been so desperate to get away from me that he’d moved to a different state the moment I’d turned eighteen. During the intervening eight years, we’d had direct contact perhaps half a dozen times. None of those meetings had ended particularly well.
But it didn’t matter now. He was my father, and he needed my help. Family responsibility didn’t end just because you didn’t get along with the family member in question. I tried to tell myself that this situation might end up being a blessing in disguise, as unlikely as that sounded. Maybe this was our chance to finally reconnect, twenty years after a madman with a gun tore our family apart.
Fatima gave me another smile—and this time, it looked a bit more genuine. “You’re a good daughter, Zorah. Nigellus, you want me to help her get set up here in the village?”
Nigellus cocked an eyebrow at me. “Are you comfortable with that? Fatima—or any of the other Council members—can arrange for me to be contacted should you need me. I have some business to conduct since I’m here anyway, so I will be easily available until tomorrow.”
At this point, all I really cared about was seeing Dad and getting settled in whatever place I was going to be staying. I had no desire to cling to Nigellus like he was some kind of security blanket for baby demons. And, its fearsome reputation aside—from what I’d seen of Hell so far? After surviving Dhuin
ne, surviving here would be a cakewalk.
“I’m fine with that,” I said. “Thank you for bringing me here, and for… offering those additional services we talked about, should I require them. I’ll let you know if I end up needing a lift back.”
Nigellus handed me my bag before executing a small bow from the shoulders, the movement practiced and elegant. “Then I will leave you in Fatima’s capable hands.”
I tried not to let my nerves get the better of me as he exchanged a brief farewell with Fatima and left us alone. She patted my shoulder and gave me a knowing look before shooing me toward the door.
“Come along, child. You’ll feel better once you’ve seen a familiar face.”
I went in the direction she herded me… but somehow, I really, really doubted that.
EIGHTEEN
THE HUT WHERE DAD was being kept was just as small and primitive looking as all the rest. The door was open, presumably to let what breeze there was come in. Children were darting in and out of the structure, some clutching simple toys of wood and straw. The bravest of the bunch skidded to a halt in front of me, looking up at me with dark brown eyes.
“Who are you?” he asked.
I supposed in a place like this, any unfamiliar adult would be cause for curiosity. New children might arrive from time to time with the Tithe, but Fatima had as much as admitted that new adults were a rarity.
“I’m Zorah,” I told him, gesturing inside the hut. “My father’s staying here. He just got here yesterday.”
“Oh,” said the boy, and ran off without another word.
Fatima gave a grandmotherly huff.
“What’s your father’s name?” she asked quietly. “As far as I know, he hasn’t given it to anyone.”
“It’s Darryl,” I said. “Darryl Bright.”
She nodded and rapped on the doorframe. “Darryl? Visitor here for you. We’re coming in!”
There was no reply, but she ushered me inside anyway. Though the surroundings could hardly have been more different than last time, I still felt a flash of déjà vu upon seeing my dad sitting in a chair, facing away as though he were completely unaware of my presence.
“Oh, Dad,” I whispered, dropping my bag near the door and crossing to look down at him.
As he had on Dhuinne, he stared right through me. Fatima hung back, giving us space, but all I could think was that I had absolutely no idea what to do now. I crouched in front of him, a hand on his knee.
“Tell me straight, Fatima,” I said, loudly enough for the older woman to hear. “Are we safe here?”
She came closer, her arms folded as she looked down at my father sadly. “Such a question, child,” she said. “Of course you’re safe here. I already told you we take care of our own. And besides—no one ever dies in Hell.”
I looked up at her, assuming she was talking about the demons’ immortality. I hoped she wasn’t exaggerating about the human village’s dedication to its members.
“Okay,” I said. “Well, we’re here now, and your hospitality is greatly appreciated. Do you think you could show me around the settlement? It’s… very different than what I’m used to on Earth. And if this is going to be our new home—” At least for now, I added mentally, “—then I’d better learn my way around.”
* * *
A couple of hours later, I’d met more people than I was ever going to be able to remember on the strength of a single introduction, and I had a much better feel for my surroundings. The village, if that was even the right word, was larger than I had originally thought. The place was like a cross between an ancient bronze-age culture and a hippy eco-village. Though I gathered they’d had extensive help from Hell’s powerful natives, the level of ingenuity involved in living off such a desolate land was still impressive.
In a place with essentially no rainfall, every drop of water was precious. Every scrap of waste, both human and animal, ended up as compost added back to the barren soil so that crops could be coaxed forth to feed the modest population. I saw no evidence of dogs or cats, but chickens seemed very popular. What water there was came piped in from higher elevations in the mountains.
The thing that struck me most was how… happy everyone seemed to be. Not ‘happy’ in the sense of laughter and gaiety, as such—but ‘happy’ in the sense of being content with one’s lot and knowing one’s place in the world.
It wasn’t a feeling I had much personal experience with, to put it mildly.
After ensuring that I had everything I needed and that I knew how to get in touch with her or one of the other Council members I’d met, Fatima gave my shoulder a final pat and left me to it. And there I was… alone with Dad for the first time in years.
Even in Dhuinne, I’d had Albigard in the next room, and the cat-sidhe looking me over with a watchful eye. Now, it was just the two of us. Frankly, it might as well have been just me.
Fatima had assured me that some of the more experienced elders would stop by over the next several days and see what they thought could be done for him. In the mean time, though, I was on my own. I now had a much greater appreciation for every person who’d ever had to take care of an invalid loved one, and to say I was feeling overwhelmed was an understatement.
It could have been worse, I told myself repeatedly. Dad could walk, and he would go where he was led for the most part. He could feed himself, though he had to be repeatedly reminded to take the next bite. We were—as far as I could tell from my brief stay so far—safe here.
And given the events of the past few weeks, that last one was kind of a biggie.
Even so, once the red-hued sun went down, none of it was enough to keep me from wanting to cry. For a long time, I lay on my simple pallet bed—one of two such beds in the hut’s back room—and fought the urge. Eventually, though, I asked myself why I was bothering. Who was I trying to impress? Myself? Dad? Ha. What a joke.
Unable to hold back the tears any longer, I let them trickle down my cheeks as I thought about everything—everyone—I’d lost. Some pathetic part of me that was still six years old hoped Dad would magically snap out of his fugue state to comfort me, upon hearing the quiet hitching of my breath from across the room. Another joke.
In the last twenty years, my father had expressed concern for me on precisely one occasion. And it was quite possible that on the occasion in question, he’d either been under the control of, or in league with, the Fae. Unsurprisingly, there was no reaction from the other pallet as I dripped tears and snot all over my lumpy pillow. I couldn’t tell if Dad was awake or asleep, but at this point it hardly mattered.
He was sleepwalking through life, regardless. I needed to be careful that I didn’t end up doing the same.
* * *
The following morning dawned cool and dry, though the red sun already held the promise of heat. Despite my post-crying headache, I got Dad situated in his chair and went to draw a fresh bucket of water from the nearest public spigot.
When I returned, Myrial was seated in a second chair across from Dad’s, examining him as though he were the most interesting thing she’d ever seen.
“Erm…” I said uncertainly, setting the bucket down inside the door.
Myrial looked up. “Oh, hello dear. Settling in all right, I take it?”
Her eyes took in my appearance in a single glance. This wasn’t the sort of place where one wore makeup, and I hadn’t even bothered to scrub a wet cloth over my face yet. I had no doubt that my puffy eyes and splotchy complexion advertised to the world that I’d spent last night blubbering like a little girl, but until this moment, I honestly hadn’t cared.
Suddenly, I did.
“Oh, yeah—we’re doing great here,” I lied. “Lovely place, I can see why the demons like it so much. So… um… what are you doing here, exactly?”
She looked surprised. “I told you I hoped we’d have the chance to talk more. This seemed like the perfect opportunity.”
There was no place for me to sit—she and Dad were taking up the on
ly two chairs. I hitched a hip against a table set against the wall and crossed my arms over my chest. “Okay. What did you want to talk about?”
“Any number of things,” Myrial said unhelpfully. “However, the most important topic centers around your mother. How much do you know about her, really?”
“Not nearly as much as I thought I did when I was growing up, as it turns out,” I replied in a dry tone. “Though I’ve been filling in the gaps more recently.”
The demon nodded. “You might be wondering why I asked you about her maiden name, when we spoke in St. Louis.”
I hadn’t been, particularly. In point of fact, I’d been a bit more concerned with the people shooting at us at the time. Looking back, though, it did seem a rather odd choice of question under the circumstances.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll bite. Why did you ask me about my mother’s maiden name?”
Myrial rose, and it occurred to me that she’d kept her human-like form even though we were in Hell. Now, though, instead of high fashion, she wore a loose tunic and trousers with sandals.
“I asked because I needed to be sure,” she said… and just like that, her form shifted before my eyes.
I blinked, because all of the sudden I was looking at Grandpa Hawkins. The one who’d disappeared, leaving my mentally ill grandmother alone with a new baby. A half-demon baby. Because my maternal grandfather… had been an incubus.
Holy fuck.
“No,” I said stupidly, staring at a face that looked like it had stepped straight out of family photos from fifty years ago.
I hadn’t seen the resemblance before, and I should have. The figure in front of me was nothing more than a male version of the woman I’d been talking to moments before. Chestnut hair, dark brown eyes, average height, average build. The sharp bone structure that placed Myrial’s female form on the striking end of the spectrum rather than the classically beautiful one, now translated into hawkishly attractive male features.
I pushed away from the table, feeling my hands clench into fists at my sides.
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