Son of a Succubus Series Collection

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Son of a Succubus Series Collection Page 49

by Dorie, Sarina


  Only he felt conflicted Clarissa was putting so much effort in educating Abigail when she was already educated—the old Abigail was anyway. When he returned the rest of her soul to her body, her memories might return with it. Baba had said they’d have to see.

  He hoped her new learning and her old learning wouldn’t confuse her soul.

  “My favorite thing is helping tend the gardens,” Abigail said between bites of cookies and pie. “I get to do that every day after school. My other favorite thing is spending time with Izzy in the nursery with the babies. I love the babies. And Izzy is my best friend.” Abigail spoke with her mouth full now. “And three times a week I get cooking lessons in the kitchen with Trevor. He’s my other best friend. He showed me a magic trick. He can eat anything. He ate a dinner plate once, and you know what happened?”

  “Abby, this isn’t appropriate conversation when people are eating,” Clarissa said quickly, panic in her eyes.

  Abigail lowered her voice. “He pooped out gold!”

  “Did he?” Lucifer asked, wondering if this boy had played a joke on her.

  Clarissa sighed with the resignation of a mother who couldn’t stop a child from telling poop jokes at the dinner table.

  “I didn’t see him do it, but he gave me a gold dinner plate later,” Abigail said. “After he’d washed it. King Elric was really excited about everything Trevor can make with his magic poop. He makes him eat all kinds of things now to see what will happen. So far, he’s laid a golden goose egg and turned bacon-wrapped brussels sprouts into diamonds! Isn’t that the coolest thing ever?”

  Lucifer had never heard Abigail use the word “cool.” He wasn’t certain he liked that modern word on her lips. She sounded less like his Abigail and more like Clarissa.

  “Lucy, you aren’t eating. Don’t you like the food we brought? I helped

  Trevor in the kitchen.” Abigail waved her fork at the table, dropping a glop of pie filling onto the floor.

  “Some people don’t like to eat when other people are talking about poop.” Clarissa whispered the last word.

  Kelsie rolled her eyes.

  “I’m fine. That doesn’t bother me,” Lucifer said before Clarissa could make Abigail feel bad. “And all the food is very nice. I’ll eat in a minute when I have a free hand,” Lucifer said.

  “I can help you.” She scooped up a forkful of berry pie and fed him. “I helped them make this pie in the kitchen. And I picked the berries. Clarissa let me plan the menu. And my best friend, Imani, and my other best friend, George, helped me.”

  “She has many best friends,” Vega grumbled as though this were a defect.

  “Good,” Kelsie said, eyes narrowing at the insult. “It’s nice to hear she has friends.”

  “Having friends isn’t a fault,” Lucifer said. It was a lesson he could learn. Abigail had always been good at befriending people.

  Abigail chattered away, feeding him as though he were the baby. She told him everything about her life. Even Baba’s usually stern expression was gone. She grinned at Abigail’s stories, her lips curled over her gums.

  Clarissa spoke quietly to Kelsie. Lucifer tried to listen to Abigail and eavesdrop on their conversation, mostly because he wanted to make sure they weren’t talking about him—or leaving him out of a conversation about Abigail.

  “Have you ever met your parents?” Clarissa asked quietly. “Wind affinities with blue hair are rare. You’re probably related to Derrick Winslow.”

  Ugh. Derrick. Clarissa’s teenage sweetheart. Lucifer vaguely remembered him from when he’d been trapped in the body of a cat while living in the Morty Realm.

  “I’ve never heard of him. It would be nice to meet him. I don’t have anyone else in my family anymore.” Kelsie leaned forward, her desire for a family so palpable and pained Lucifer had to look away.

  Especially knowing what had happened to Derrick.

  “Well, that’s a shame. He’s dead now.” Clarissa smiled awkwardly. “But I can look for his grandparents for you. They might still be alive.”

  “Oh.” Kelsie’s shoulders sagged.

  “Hey, you aren’t listening to me!” Abigail dropped the fork onto the table. “Lucy! Kelsie!”

  Clarissa spoke calmly and firmly like a teacher. “We are having an adult conversation, honey. It isn’t polite to interrupt. You need to wait your turn.”

  “But that’s what little brats do best,” Vega said. “Talk incessantly and interrupt.”

  Lucifer picked up the fork and dug into the quiche. He was suddenly coming to appreciate not needing to teach Abigail everything. He could do without the equivalent of the terrible twos and the tantrums of a child. When she was all-grown up again, after he returned her soul, that’s what he truly looked forward to.

  Then again, he still had to figure out how to retrieve all the pieces and put them inside her before he was too late. The leshi tears were holding him up.

  Abigail clenched her fists. “I’m not a brat. You’re a brat!”

  Vega managed to look down her nose at them despite being seated like the rest of them. “That’s Queen Brat to you.”

  Abigail made a face. “Adults are boring. Except for you, Lucy.” She flung an arm around his shoulder and kissed his cheek just above his beard.

  His face felt sticky, but he didn’t mind. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  Clarissa’s tone was cloying. “Abby, do you know why all this is boring to you? Do you understand why you have no interest in anyone else’s problems other than your own? I bet all this would be so much easier for you if you let Felix and me help you regrow your soul.” Her wheedling wasn’t subtle enough to fool Lucifer. “Everything will be so much better. You’ll fit in with the other girls your age.”

  “You don’t need to regrow her soul,” Lucifer said. “I’m going to retrieve it for Abby.”

  Clarissa’s tone was patronizing. “Of course you will.”

  He patted Abigail’s back. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? For me to restore your soul?”

  She mumbled against her fork. “I like that you don’t talk about me like I’m not here. You’re the only adult I can stand.”

  “You do realize how dangerous what you’re attempting is, don’t you? Or has Baba not warned you?” Fire blazed in Clarissa’s eyes. “You might shatter that piece of soul bringing it into her body. Even if you do manage to place her soul inside her, you could permanently alter her mind bringing in someone else’s soul—or a damaged one in the process of disintegrating. Are you really willing to risk that?”

  Lucifer said through clenched teeth, “I have a mentor to help me.”

  “Did your mentor help you put Abby’s soul in her body when you woke her?” The malice in Clarissa’s eyes couldn’t have been more tangible.

  Abigail bit her lip. She looked from Clarissa to him, her eyes round and wounded.

  Lucifer tried to swallow the lump in his throat. Guilt clamped down around him.

  “Perhaps all this adult conversation is not suitable for Abby.” Baba turned to Abigail, her teeth curling over her gums as she smiled. “You do not have to sit inside. Take your plates outdoors. Go play.” She made a dismissive gesture toward the door.

  Abigail removed her hand from the table and hid her fingers in the folds of her skirt. She buried the fingers of her other hand under the thick mane of Lucifer’s hair. He couldn’t tell if anyone else noticed her discomfort when Baba spoke.

  “Or better yet. . . . Our Abby was always good at weaving,” Baba said. “See if Abby will help you with your blanket. Perhaps she will prick her finger on thorn and give you extra . . . magic.”

  Abigail wrapped her arms around herself. Lucifer stroked her back. He hated that she still remembered Baba chopping off her fingers.

  “We’ll go outside.” He lifted Abigail from his lap and stood.

  “Finally,” Vega said. “We can have a civilized conversation without so much insipid cheerf
ulness.”

  Lucifer retrieved the box of items from upstairs that he’d collected for his weaving. Abigail waited for him at the bottom of the ladder, her eyes full of eagerness. She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow the moment he returned to her side.

  “Don’t go far,” Clarissa called after them as they stepped toward the door.

  “Whatever you say, Mom,” Vega muttered.

  Clarissa crossed her arms. “Don’t call me that. I’m not her mom.”

  “No, you just act like it.” Vega leaned back in her chair, her heavily lidded eyes full of boredom. “I bet you’re worse than she was when you were growing up. What do they call that? A helicopter mom?”

  Lucifer guided Abigail along the path into the forest.

  “Are they always like that?” Lucifer asked.

  Abigail peered at his box curiously. “Pretty much. King Elric says it’s because they’re best friends.”

  “Huh. Best friends.” Perhaps that was an exaggeration. “How are you at weaving these days? Do they give you any classes in that?”

  “Yes! Weaving is my muse talent!” Abigail skipped beside him.

  “What does that mean?”

  “The muse class is when all of us children get together and make art.” Her joy radiated from her like sunshine. “Some of them are very good at playing music or dancing or painting. Elric—King Elric—comes to class to help inspire us. He sat with me my first day to help me find my special art. I’m a weaver. Did you know he’s a muse?”

  “I had heard something about that.” Vega’s husband had originally come from a Fae court of muses. “It sounds . . . great you have a Fae king helping you learn weaving.” It was another thing they could better provide for her over there.

  “It is. Wait until I show you what I can do!” She was practically jumping up and down. “I can weave with plants and magic.”

  He laughed. “I know. Who do you think taught you?”

  “Yes, that’s right. You showed me in the garden. But I’ve improved since then.”

  He found an oak tree just off the path that he suspected she would like. He couldn’t see the cottage from the shady spot, but they were close enough they would be able to hear Clarissa call when she wanted them to return.

  Lucifer showed Abigail the treasure box with his incomplete blanket. Abigail smoothed a hand over the weaving. Green sparkles drifted up from her fingers as the magic reacted to her. She lifted the blanket and hugged it. The weaving would help him attract the pieces of her missing soul, but he suspected this section of her soul liked it just as much.

  He told her about all the plants he had used. “I selected strawberries because they used to be your favorite. And oak because it’s your affinity.”

  “This is like a portrait of me but made of things I like. Is this a present for me?”

  “Indeed. It’s a present for your soul.” He suspected that was too vague for her to understand. “I’m making it to help you with—”

  “Why does my soul need a present?” Her eyes went wide before he could answer. “You know what else I like? Orchids!”

  “I have some of those right here.” He pointed to a section where white orchids dotted with purple patterns bloomed.

  “I like pink flowers better. You should put pink roses in my blanket.” Everywhere she touched the blanket the plants grew thicker. Leaves sprouted from the vines, and tendrils circled through gaps in intricate patterns.

  He spread the blanket over their laps and practiced the techniques Baba had shown him for capturing the essence of the plants. He used magic to compel the spirit of the plants to lengthen and weave together. “Green used to be your favorite color. And purple, I think. I need to include things in the blanket that the old you liked.” He wasn’t certain what would happen if he included pink and roses and things that he didn’t associate with the other Abigail’s soul.

  “The ‘old’ me?” Her smile faltered. “So this is a present for her? Not me?”

  “The old you is you. Part of you.” A hint of apprehension rattled his nerves at the idea she might not understand. She might not be old enough to do so. “I’m going to make this blanket for the part of your soul that isn’t inside you right now so I can help you be whole again. I’m going to travel to the underworld and use the blanket so your soul will recognize you—me—well—” He didn’t like saying to “lure” it out, but he didn’t have a better way of explaining it to her.

  “I am whole.” Her eyebrows drew together. “They say I’m not, but it isn’t true. I am.”

  “Who says that?”

  “The adults. They think I don’t hear them talking, but I do.” Tears filled her eyes. “They don’t try to be quiet about it. Most of the other children know. The used to call me ‘soulless’ until Imani—Miss Imani—made them stop.”

  He took her hands in his. “I’m sorry. It sounds unfair.”

  He wished he had divined the wisdom of whether this was a good idea before taking the blanket outside and showing her.

  Lucifer squeezed her fingers. “Your soul is young. Maybe we would say it’s small for your body right now. It’s not missing or incomplete. It’s like Lucille’s or Clarissa’s baby. It’s just that their bodies are smaller, so their souls fit better. Think of your soul as you might a dress. The one you’re wearing now is the right fit. But a little child with a dress this size wouldn’t fit. And you wearing a baby’s dress wouldn’t fit either.” He hoped he was using an analogy she would understand.

  From her crinkled forehead, he suspected he was failing.

  “Lucy, that doesn’t even make sense. Dresses don’t grow.”

  It was no surprise he couldn’t explain something he couldn’t fully understand himself. “I’m just making this blanket to help the rest of your soul return to your body. Then no one will make fun of you anymore. And the adults won’t talk about you like you aren’t there.” He lifted her chin so she could see into his eyes. He wanted her to fathom his sincerity and know he cared.

  “And then we can be together again?” Abigail’s large green eyes were full of innocence and hope. Her soul might have been eight or twelve, but her face looked sixteen.

  “That’s my hope. If you’ll want to be with me again.” For all he knew, she would grow up into a different person, someone immune to his incubus charms.

  “Of course I’m going to want to come back. It’s just . . . Clarissa didn’t want me to come.” She swallowed. “Because of Baba. I told her I wasn’t afraid of Baba because I have you here to protect me.”

  He tried to make a joke of it. “Even I’m a little scared of Baba.”

  She giggled.

  He scooted closer to her and leaned against the oak tree. “Baba won’t cut off your fingers as long as I’m around. She only did it before because she needs blood and pain for her magic spells. If I’m not here, she has to take it from someone else.”

  Abigail smoothed her hand over his calloused one. “You have all your fingers.”

  “She doesn’t take my fingers. I give her magic instead. Sometimes she doesn’t use it at all. Sometimes I use my magic to heal people so she doesn’t have to. That day she took your fingers, she used them to help Isibeal. Did you know that? I don’t like what Baba did, and I don’t want her to hurt you, but if she hadn’t, I don’t know if your friend would be alive.”

  “Oh. That would be sad.” She leaned her head against his shoulder.

  He stroked wisps of auburn hair that had escaped her braided crown, loving the silky feel of it beneath his fingers. “If I get better at magic, she can just use my magic, not yours. And if I can help return the part of your soul that’s missing, you’ll be better at protecting yourself. Or you can come with me when I leave Baba’s cottage so you won’t be alone with her. I think it will be easier for you.”

  “Why can’t you just come back to the castle with me? Why do you have to stay here with Baba?” She didn’t sound pouty and childish
as she had earlier. It made it easier to take her seriously, to hope she was mature enough to understand.

  “I’m her apprentice. I’ve promised her thirteen years total. I have two years left, I think.” Sometimes he couldn’t tell with the way seasons passed. “I left my apprenticeship early to be with you—to be with the old you—but Baba punished me and turned me into a cat to try to make me come back.” He wrapped his arms around her, thankful to have arms instead of paws.

  “Baba is mean.”

  “She is strict. I stayed with you—the other you—for thirty years, but I wouldn’t return to Baba. I wanted to be with you even if I couldn’t be a human. The only reason I came back after all that time away was because I knew she could help me wake you up. And she did.” He still regretted not waiting as Baba had instructed. Abigail would have been safer unconscious while under guard in Vega’s castle than at Baba’s.

  “Thirty years is a long time. That’s how old Vega is.”

  Lucifer suspected Vega was older, but he didn’t say so. “I waited thirty years for you. I think you can wait two years for me. Maybe it will be less if we’re lucky.”

  “Waiting sucks.”

  “Who taught you that word ‘sucks?’ Clarissa?” Abigail had never allowed Clarissa to say that.

  “No one taught it to me. I just heard other kids say it. Why?”

  He hesitated, uncertain he should tell her how much he wanted her to sound like his Abigail. “It’s very modern.”

  “What’s wrong with ‘modern?’”

  “Nothing.” Everything.

  She grinned. “You’re a spectacular liar.”

  “Spectacularly bad, you mean.” He shifted the blanket so he could weave the place he’d left off.

  She sat quietly, helping him weave. He could see she was a more practiced artist than he was. He liked that she was working beside him, creating a mirror of herself that her missing piece would recognize. If he completed this blanket sooner, he would be able to capture that piece of soul sooner. He would restore her, and they would be together.

  When he used the soul magic he’d been practicing, he was able to slip his awareness inside her body and sense her soul as he had when he’d been practicing on animals. Her green magic swirled around inside her, tasting of oak pitch and spring flowers. He hadn’t had much practice assessing the size of her soul before, only her progress in cognitive development—and that was rational and objective—an assessment made from observations. He wasn’t sure what to compare the current breadth and depth of a soul to now as opposed to what a whole one would be. He was out of his element. Baba would know the answers.

 

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