Hidden Worlds

by Kristie Cook

  “You okay?” I asked him.

  Our eyes met. His usual sparkling humor was replaced by something darker, and, for the first time, I felt like our roles were reversed. I glanced down and saw his other hand lying in his lap, and I took it in mine. He gripped it hard.

  My eyes found his again. “This is changing a lot of things, isn’t it?” I whispered.

  Conor leaned close. “Not everything, Red. It isn’t changing everything."

  His eyes searched mine. It hit me then. Marcas was wrong. Conor didn’t care about me because he thought I needed him. He needed me. I wasn’t sure why. He was one of the strongest people I knew. Always had been. He’d been a champion for me from the day he’d thrown a bucket of mud over my head while dressed in my Sunday best to the day he’d asked me to dance at the formal our ninth grade year when no one else would because I’d had a little accident with Monroe’s hair straightener and washable hair dye. He was tall, proud, and strong. And, for the past year, he’d obviously been my guardian.

  “Maybe,” I muttered.

  I pulled my hand away. The connection had become uncomfortable. There wasn’t a moment of my life that didn’t include Conor in some way. I did love him. I did. I just wasn’t sure in what way.

  Conor looked away but he didn’t remove his hand from my back. I glanced at Monroe. She gave me her best "we’ll figure this out" look. I smiled.

  “So, do we get to do any touring here, or is it all James Bond-wanna-be-hell?” Monroe asked, her tone light.

  Marcas looked over at us blankly. The plane rolled to a stop and the seat belt light dinged off.

  “We have got to make you watch some movies,” I said to the Demon as I unfastened my seat belt. He didn’t reply.

  People began lining up in the aisle and we all moved toward the exit. My eyes widened as we drew close to the opening. I’d always wanted to travel. Italy was on the top of my "places I wanted to see" list.

  “I hope you enjoyed your flight,” an attendant greeted as we climbed out of the plane.

  Late afternoon sun blinded me momentarily, and I didn’t bother acknowledging her. "Enjoy" wasn’t the word I’d use to describe the long hours spent hanging way too far up in the air with a reluctant Demon and a pissed off gargoyle. My feet hit the tarmac and I sighed. I wondered if it would look strange for me to kiss the ground. I loved gravity.

  “Is it wrong that I’m standing on Italian soil and the only thing I want is a shower and a toothbrush? The film on my teeth is beginning to drive me nuts,” I muttered.

  We walked through the airport. None of us had luggage.

  Monroe laughed. “Ditto. Please tell me we get to go shopping.”

  Conor snorted. “With what?”

  Monroe slapped him on the side of the head playfully. He flinched and pretended to be seriously injured.

  “Don’t go spoiling my dreams,” she sulked.

  Marcas walked ahead of the three of us. I knew our company annoyed him on many levels, and I felt genuinely sorry for the way we’d been thrown together. Neither one of us had asked for this. I stared at his back, my thoughts whirring, as Monroe and Conor threw jibes at each other next to me. There were still a million questions left unanswered, so many things I didn’t know about myself and the Demon I was bound to.

  I jogged to catch up with Marcas. “Where to next?” I asked breathlessly.

  He didn’t slow down.

  “Marcas?” I persisted.

  He glanced behind him. “We meet up with a few Demons I actually trust.”

  Demons? Wait a minute. I let him move ahead. Demons? I jogged to catch up with him again, almost tripping over several people as I went.

  I was panting as I came up beside him. “I thought they all wanted me dead?”

  He moved through the crowd easily. People seemed to know to stay out of his way. I needed that power too. If it even was a power. Maybe it was just Marcas.

  “I have a few kin loyal to me, Blainey. They won’t harm you if I order them not to,” Marcas said.

  He walked out into the street. I froze. The scene before me was awe inspiring. People moved along the busy stone road screaming into cell phones, dragging luggage, or hailing taxis. Italian words wrapped themselves around me as I glimpsed some of the architecture in the distance that made Italy famous.

  “Awesome,” Monroe whispered from behind me.

  I smiled. We weren’t even at a tourist attraction, just standing outside an airport, and I was already in love with the country. I think it was the atmosphere. It was a mix of modern society and ancient history. The Italian language around us didn’t hurt. Not being able to speak or understand the tongue made the scene feel exotic. I found myself whispering a sonnet by Oscar Wilde, the lines making so much more sense in that moment than when I’d first read them.

  "Italia, my Italia, at thy name:

  And when from out the mountain’s heart I came

  And saw the land for which my life had yearned,

  I laughed as one who some great prize had earned."

  I finished as I looked toward the road, my eyes finding Marcas. He was watching me quietly, and I felt my face burn.

  Keeping my expression blank, I eyed him as he turned away to flag down a car idling further down the street. The driver picked up on Marcas’ gesture, and the car pulled into the crowd before stopping next to us.

  I glanced nervously at Conor and Monroe. It didn’t look like a taxi, but I didn’t argue as Marcas stood back and motioned for us to climb in. So far, he’d kept his promise to keep us safe. He leaned into the front seat and said something to the driver in the native tongue. If he wasn’t such an ass, it would have been sexy.

  “I’ll go first,” Conor said abruptly.

  Monroe and I looked at him in surprise. Unless he was angry or sick, it wasn’t like Conor to enter a vehicle before a female. The fact that he did so now meant he was worried. It made me more cautious.

  Monroe followed Conor, and I slid in last. The vehicle’s interior was made up of dark leather and smelled new. It definitely wasn’t a taxi.

  Marcas slid into the front seat, his conversation with the driver rushed and quiet, the foreign words as disturbing as they were melodic.

  “Should we worry?” Monroe asked me nervously.

  We watched the man behind the wheel nod before pulling away from the airport. He and Marcas appeared to be the same height. His head was level with Marcas’ and his hair was just as black. His face, however, was shaped different. Longer. And he felt younger than Marcas. There was no doubt he was a Demon. Somehow, I just knew he was. Must be something else I’d inherited from my dear ol’ bound-buddy.

  “I don’t think so,” I finally answered. “If there is such a thing as a friend in the Demon world, I think he’s one of them.”

  I watched Marcas and the stranger talk. They seemed at ease with each other. It was completely different from the way he’d been when talking to Samuel. There was no "animal kingdom" animosity, suspicious glares, or barbed comments. We lapsed into silence as the man drove. I glanced at Conor and noticed him staring out the window. The conversation in the front seat halted.

  “Forgive my brother’s rudeness,” a smooth husky voice said suddenly. I looked up to find the driver watching us in the rearview mirror. His eyes were green, his cheekbones high.

  “I am called Luther,” he introduced.

  His accent wasn’t deep. Something told me he wasn’t originally from Italy. We didn’t introduce ourselves, and he didn’t seem to expect us to. The car moved quickly through the streets before pulling up to a building nestled on the edge of what appeared to be a large plaza. I didn’t know enough about the country to know where we were, but I found myself staring in awe at the people casually walking by as if they had all the time in the world. There were birds flying around the heads of passersby, and other birds limping from foot to foot along the stone walks. There was an incredible fountain visible from the car, and I craned my neck trying to get a better lo
ok. A Piazza. This was a Piazza. I had read about those, but nothing prepares you for the beauty of reality.

  “Ladies,” Luther said suavely as he climbed out of the car and pulled open the back door, his gesture punctuated by a long, deep bow.

  It was a ridiculous, over-done move that reeked of charm, and I heard Monroe choke on a cough next to me. I knew without looking that she was fighting the urge to giggle. I caught a glimpse of Marcas swearing at the Heavens behind the stooped Demon, and a smile spread across my face as Luther straightened. For a Demon, Marcas sure did talk a lot to God.

  I slid out from the interior and murmured, “Thank you.”

  Monroe followed suit. Luther let go of the door and walked toward the building before Conor could emerge. I guess the hospitality ended when it came to gargoyles. Conor didn’t seem to care.

  “This is your brother?” I asked Marcas as we followed Luther.

  Marcas’ back was to us, his shoulders straight, his eyes searching the Piazza. “I have a lot of siblings, Blainey. He’s one of many. Some are sons and daughters of Cain and Lilith and others I just share with one parent.”

  I glanced at Monroe. There was no telling how many that would be. Talk about sibling rivalry.

  “Must make for some nice family reunions,” Monroe hissed.

  I snickered. I saw Conor smile from the corner of my eye. His humor was returning.

  Luther paused at a doorway on the side of an ancient stone building and held it open. We all moved through it.

  A hallway opened up to us, and Marcas said something else to Luther in what I assumed was Italian. Maybe I was wrong. Who knew? It was obvious they both spoke English but wanted whatever they were discussing to remain on the down-low. Whatever.

  “You do realize that having foreign conversations in front of guests is rude,” I pointed out to the two Demons as we started down a flight of stone steps. It got darker as we descended.

  Marcas looked away from his brother. “You’re not a guest,” he said.

  Ouch, that hurt. “No, I’m just your unwilling, bonded Naphil.”

  Luther actually laughed. He seemed much more comfortable with joviality than his brother. I still had yet to make Marcas smile.

  I placed my hand against the wall as we moved, my balance precarious as the stairs narrowed. Light filtered upstairs from a room below, and the engagement ring and wedding band from the airport suddenly glowed as it caught the luminosity. I stared. They were still on my finger? Why hadn’t they disappeared?

  I looked away just in time to see Luther staring at the rings.

  “I’m sure he finds the bond detestable,” Luther said, his curious gaze swinging to Marcas.

  Marcas’ eyes met mine briefly, his gaze glancing quickly from the rings to my face. There were no words, and I found myself reluctant to ask why the jewelry hadn’t disappeared. We both looked away.

  Curiosity engulfed me as we came to the bottom of the stairs and entered what appeared to be a living room. Cushy leather furniture was scattered throughout. Most of it was red and black. A bar stretched along the back of the room with stools covered in black leather lining the front of it. Red, black, and leather. These Demons weren’t very creative

  Luther leaned against the corner of a sofa. The way he moved spoke of dark rooms and naughtiness.

  Monroe whistled quietly under her breath. “Does he do that on purpose?” she grumbled.

  My lips quirked. “No doubt."

  Her eyes widened, her gaze skirting the dark Demon. It felt nice to relax a moment. My tense shoulders slumped.

  I was seriously contemplating trying out one of the couches when I felt it. I looked up.

  Monroe’s gaze found my face. “Dayton?”

  Another Demon? The sound of a door creaking made us all pause. Monroe swore under her breath. This Demon didn’t feel right.

  “Well, what do we have here?” a sultry female voice asked suddenly from the side of the room.

  I glanced at Conor and Monroe. Both of them had turned toward the voice, and the expressions on their faces spoke volumes. I fought the urge to run away and turned toward the woman slowly instead. I was getting tired of surprises. I wanted to stomp my foot in frustration, but temper tantrums weren’t going to get me anywhere.

  A svelte, raven haired woman sauntered into the living area. She was tall and curvy with straight, shining black hair and clothes that looked painted on to every valley, plain, and dip her body made. Each step she took emphasized her physique. She moved stealthily, her eyes pinned on me. Once again, I felt Demon. It made me nervous, but I didn’t move.

  “Is this the one?” she inquired curiously.

  I glanced at our male Demon escorts but they barely reacted. Luther merely raised a brow and Marcas didn’t move at all. Conor, Monroe, and I were the only ones who seemed startled and put off by the woman’s sudden appearance. Her presence filled the area with tension and anxiety. I wondered briefly if she was doing it on purpose. She didn’t look pleased to see us here.

  Moving across the room to stand before me, she sneered, “A little thing, aren’t you?”

  She was as tall as the other two Demons. It left me eye level with her boobs, but I didn’t look up at her. Something told me she was expecting that. And I was determined not to let her believe she was dominant enough to influence me or I’d have to deal with a bitchy power gamble. Thus, the whole "mean girls" concept. Movies can be oh so educational. And I assumed the whole Lindsey Lohan movie example worked the same way with any female species.

  The Demon circled me. “I expected more from the daughter of Bezaliel.” She ran painted black fingernails somewhat painfully along my collarbone.

  It took all I had not to shiver. What did she know about my father? News obviously traveled fast in the Demon world. My being a target hadn’t been an exaggeration. And it really, really frustrated me that so many people and creatures knew more about my father than I did.

  I glanced at Marcas. He was leaning against the wall, his gaze focused elsewhere. Was this a test?

  “You think you might give her some space?” Conor asked guardedly from behind me.

  He must have noticed my discomfort. An open book, he’d called me once. I seriously needed to learn to keep my book cover closed.

  The woman’s head snapped up, a frown marring her features until she caught sight of the tall gargoyle behind me.

  She grinned, her eyelashes fluttering. “Why, of course, sweetheart! Aren’t you a handsome young thing?” She gave him the classic feminine once over before moving around me just enough to put Conor fully in her view. It gave me a little space but not much.

  Her searching gaze moved between Conor, Monroe, and me before landing once again on me. “Hmmm." She glanced at Marcas. “They couldn’t have bound you to the sister?”

  I must have been found wanting. Marcas gave her a look. Some unspoken message passed between them.

  She laughed. "So, the little Angel doesn’t know?"

  My eyes narrowed. Know what?

  The woman circled me. "Even so, I hear the sister is still more impressive."

  Marcas looked away, his gaze focused on the opposite side of the room. “The sister wouldn’t have lasted a day,” he said evenly.

  My gaze shot to his face. Did he mean that?

  The female Demon drew back in surprise. “Well!” She lifted my chin. I continued to avoid her gaze. She dropped my face. “Marcas here must think highly of you.”

  She started to reach for me again, and I flinched.

  Luther pushed away from the couch. “Forgive my sister. She’s obviously my more evil half. She forgets mortals have manners. This is Alexis,” he introduced, his eyes riveted on the female Demon, his gaze full of disapproval.

  “Lexi,” she corrected him with a pout. The similarities between them were undeniable.

  “She’s your twin,” I murmured.

  Luther didn’t deny it.

  Conor huffed from behind me. “Jesus, do all you God
forsaken creatures come in pairs?”

  Monroe snorted next to me, her lips pinched to keep from laughing. Only Monroe could find something amusing in a moment so dark.

  “Lexi … Luther … Lex Luther. Ha! Someone was a fan of DC comics,” Monroe giggled.

  I got the joke and it tickled me. “Oh, my God.”

  The Demons didn’t look pleased. I’m sure they’d been around long before the invention of comic books, but it didn’t make the coincidence any less amusing.

  Lexi’s perturbed gaze fell on Marcas. Being goaded by humans didn’t seem her thing.

  “You traveled with these mortals?” she asked. “And you didn’t kill them?”

  Her mouth sprouted fangs. I was still in too much shock, too numb and delirious to care about the dangers pissing off a Demon posed. I still giggled.

  Lexi growled. “Young ones! All of them! And this …,” her disgusted gaze found my face, “is the daughter of Bezaliel? He’d be so disappointed in her.” She laughed.

  It was like rubbing salt into an open wound. My shoulders came back, and I stepped forward. She didn’t know shit about my father or me!

  “Dayton,” Monroe warned.

  Lexi leaned toward me, bending over so that her eyes were just about level with mine. I didn’t look away. My blood pressure was rising.

  “What would he say if he saw you now, darling?” Lexi drawled. “Would he enfold you in his protective Angel wings or abandon you?” She tapped my nose. “Oh wait! He already did that.”

  Anger consumed me, and I inhaled sharply. Breathing did nothing to calm me. Something inside me burst, and I shoved the Demon woman as hard as I could. She flew across the room, her eyes going wide.

  “You bitch!” I screamed.

  A light shot forth and hit the wall just above Lexi’s head. She froze, her startled gaze staring at it before she pushed herself up with a snarl. Had I done that?

  I peered at my hands. What was that?