Demon Demon Burning Bright, Whisperings book four

by Linda Welch

  My questions died before they became words.

  Lawrence stood and stepped down from his chair. “I’m sorry we can’t help you, Miss Banks.” The councilors stood as he walked the open space between their chairs. “I’ll walk with you.”

  When I last saw Lawrence he exuded confidence and not a little superciliousness. Now his shoulders were tense, he kept his gaze on the floor. I turned as he came to my side and walked with him from the Council Chamber and along the hall, the councilors trailing us.

  “Lawrence,” I began in an undertone, but without looking at me he again shook his head.

  Frustrated, I pressed my lips together. Lawrence was warning me to keep my mouth shut and he wanted me gone, fast.

  He let me walk on the inside of the staircase, for which I was grateful. Through the tall windows, I saw the sea of people on the grass.

  The demons in the hall below watched our descent. They made obeisance as Lawrence moved among them, the men bowing from the waist, the women dropping to deep curtsies. Lawrence dipped his chin at this one and that.

  Outside the door, he held his hand to me, so I gripped it. “It’s always nice to see you, Miss Banks,” he said. “I hope Ryel’s home when you get back.”

  I intended to protest my expulsion from Bel-Athaer before I knew anything worth knowing, until I felt his hand in mine. I disguised my surprise with a tepid smile. “I hope so.”

  Gareth came to my side. “I will walk with you to the bus stop.”

  I smiled at Lawrence again. He didn’t return it, but focused on my eyes before turning away.

  The demons who waited outside scrambled upright. Lawrence lifted his hand to them, then crossed the path to the grass. Gareth and I left the High House and started along the lane. A few people headed our way and they moved aside to let us through. Gareth faced ahead as he strode along, as if he did not see them.

  I felt as if the heat would press me to the ground. To hell with it; I would frizzle up before much longer. I shrugged my coat off and folded it over my arm.

  I looked back to see Lawrence walking among his people. He stopped to speak to one, moved on to another. He was tall for his age, but small beside the adult Gelpha.

  “You did not have to hide your weapon.”

  I threw Gareth a sideways look. “You knew I carry?”

  “You always do.”

  Huh.

  He linked his hands behind his back. “I truly am sorry we cannot help you. Wallace is right, although we can sense one or a few of our brethren in an area populated by humans, locating Royal among the multitude of our own people here is impossible. But I will spread word I am looking for him and hope he hears of it, or someone has seen him.”

  “Thank you.”

  He acknowledged my thanks with a nod.

  “Does the name Cicero ring a bell?” I asked, hoping to take him by surprise.

  Apart from his eyes darkening, he controlled his expression. “Indeed it does. Cicero is one of our Seers.”

  Some names in Bel-Athaer obviously have a capital letter, like High House, and the Lady. If I weren’t mistaken, so did Seer. “Our?”

  “He serves the High House.”

  Gorge Ligori - Clarion’s resident demon before Lawrence made him return to Bel-Athaer - mentioned a Seer, way back when Royal and I found Lawrence at Gorge’s apartment. It was another of those things Gorge and Royal didn’t want to talk about; in fact, it sent Gorge into an agitated snit.

  “How do you know of Cicero?”

  I looked up at the pale sky. A few clouds scudded along, but still no sun. One must be up there to produce this heat. “He left a text on Royal’s cell phone.”

  Silence ticked by, then he asked, “Indeed? What did he say?”

  “Something about Royal being late for an appointment.”

  Gareth strode along, hands clasped behind his back, gaze dead ahead. “Curious.”

  “Where do I find him?”

  He smiled thinly. “Cicero? You do not, Miss Banks.”

  I felt the familiar prickling heat of my temper rising. “Why ever not?”

  “As all know, he values his privacy. Ask all you wish, no person here will divulge his location.”

  “Not even you?”

  “Not I, not anyone,” he said with finality not to be budged. “But I will contact him. Perhaps Ryel is with him as we speak.”

  “Can you do it now?”

  “I’m afraid we do not just pick up a telephone and call him. I will send a message as soon as I return to the High House.”

  “If that’s the best you can do, thanks. But you can call me, right?”

  “You can rely on it.”

  I didn’t press further. After saying good-bye to Lawrence, I itched to be alone. “Gareth, you can head back, I know the way. I promise I will get on the bus.”

  “I am sure you will, but you do not know where to get off.”

  He had a point. The street could be anywhere in the city. I didn’t know the name of the stop.

  Then how… ? “How come I came out in the middle of town? When I came here with Royal we landed somewhere near the High House.”

  “Gates are stable but the Ways can fluctuate.”

  “Gates? Ways?”

  “I thought Ryel would have told you - Ways are passages between your world and mine. A Gate is the door to a Way.”

  Had I stepped into a science fiction movie?

  Or maybe not. Einstein and Nathan Rosen published a paper which expanded on Einstein’s theory of relativity, saying that implicit in the general relativity formalism is a curved-space structure which can join two distant regions of space-time through a tunnel-like curved spatial shortcut. They called it the Einstein-Rosen Bridge. Science fiction writers call it a worm hole, which travelers use to move from one area of space to another, though they avoid some which are unstable because they could end up anywhere.

  “These gates - are there many?”

  “To our knowledge, upward of fifty.”

  Wow. “I bet most are in cities.” Royal told me most Gelpha gravitate to highly populated areas in my world.

  He gave me an appraising look. “Indeed, most are.”

  My thoughts tripped along, reminding me of another journey. “Okay, so Gates can’t move but Ways can? Is that how we got to Russia when we used the same door in Clarion, but went directly to Kazan instead of Bel-Athaer?” We went to where Gia, Daven and Royal intended.

  “The Cousins can manipulate the Ways between so they shift to different Gates.”

  So that’s what he meant when he said the Ways can fluctuate. Gia and Daven moved a Way so it led to a Gate in Kazan, Russia. Given the Gelpha prohibition against revealing anything about the Cousins, Gareth surprised me. I didn’t bring it to his attention.

  He increased his stride, his heels kicking up dust. “Come, the bus is already here,” he said, indicating the small blue vehicle with his hand.

  “One more question. Why did you let me into Bel-Athaer?”

  “We can no longer keep you out.”

  “Why not? What changed?”

  He gave me an enigmatic smile, faced forward and walked faster.

  There are people who present an argument as to why they won’t or can’t answer you, and there are those who clamp their lips together and refuse to say another word. Demons fall under the latter category.

  I hefted a sigh and trailed after him, deep in thought. Something did not add up, a whole lot of somethings.

  Gareth waited at the idling bus. Taking my time, I continued to stroll.

  “I told the driver where you disembark,” he said when I reached him.

  He gallantly offered his hand to help me into the bus. I ignored it.

  The bus labored along the country road. I sat at the back, six seats between me and three Gelpha at the front. Covered by the high back of the seat in front of me, I opened my hand on the small piece of paper Lawrence palmed me, folded small to conceal in a boy’s hand.

  I s
moothed it out on my knee, a piece of eight by ten ruled paper, the facing side covered in large, handwritten Gelpha symbols. One edge was ragged - did Lawrence rip it from a book?

  Why?

  I turned it over and read the writing on the other side: “I beg you, kill the Burning Man before he kills me. PS: Find Gorge.

  I read it twice more before the message penetrated. I tried to find some other meaning in the words, but couldn’t. Lawrence feared for his life, so reached out to me. Not his advisors. Me. And he didn’t mince words; he was specific about how I should deal with this Burning Man. No please help me. He got right to the point. Kill.

  And what about Gorge? I felt bad that I never asked after Gorge the two times I visited the High House - three times now. I assumed he wasn’t with Lawrence because he played no part in the boy’s official duties. Did he return to Earth? He was less than enthusiastic about living in Bel-Athaer; Gorge would rather have stayed in my world. Was he missing, like Royal?

  The Burning Man. Why did that prick my mind?

  My fingers contracted, but I stopped short of crushing the note.

  I closed my eyes to summon recollection of the evening I returned home to find Jack and Mel glued to the window in the backdoor. They saw what Jack described as a fire, and I decided was a firecracker. “It looked like a man, burning,” Mel said.

  I found nothing out there. No spent firework, no charred grass, no smell of gunpowder. My roommates saw something in the backyard; they’re not delusional, but they are drama queens who delight in anything remotely exciting and have been known to let their imagination get the better of them. I let it go.

  Now I wondered, was there a connection?

  God damn you, Tiff, of course there’s a connection. There always is.

  This sheet of paper … was it the only paper available when Lawrence wanted to print a quick note, or did he use this piece for a reason? With another kid, I’d say the former, but Lawrence was smart and I did see that Gelpha script somewhere. If only I could recall where.

  I folded the note and put it in my pocket.

  I gazed at the countryside idling past, a warm breeze through the windows played with wisps of loose hair on my forehead. I had no idea what to do. Lawrence couldn’t trust his Council or he would go to them for help, not secretly pass me a note. I knew one demon who could help me, and he wasn’t here.

  CHAPTER SIX

  I walked in the hall to find Mac waiting near the door and raised voices in the kitchen.

  “You don’t own the TV!”

  “I didn’t say I did. I merely want to watch something more sophisticated than malnourished girls draped in ridiculous costumes.”

  “You like Cirque du Soleil for the acrobatics? You don’t fool me,” Mel huffed. “You want to ogle virile young men in leotard.”

  “Hey, Mac.” I turned off the alarm, leaned on the wall, slid down till I sat on the floor and scratched behind Mac’s ears. “Can you see and hear them? Or do you feel their thunder and lightning?”

  He gave me a slitty-eyed scowl, but leaned into my hand. I doubt I’ll ever know whether Mac sees my roommates, but he knows they are here and he doesn’t care for them. This time, when normally he scuttles to the pantry the moment I come home, their bickering drove him from the kitchen.

  “It just lasts half an hour,” Mel pressed.

  “Thirty minutes I could do without.”

  Sighing, I heaved to my feet, peeled my coat off and hung it on the peg. I sat on the bottom step of the staircase to take my boots off. Shrugging out of my shoulder holster, I removed my Ruger and hung the holster, then went in the kitchen carrying my gun.

  “There you are!” from Jack. “I want to watch Channel 4!”

  “What’s stopping you?” I crossed the kitchen to put my Ruger in a drawer. Closing the drawer, I eyed Jack thoughtfully. “Hm, couldn’t be something to do with the fact you can’t turn it on, could it?”

  “That’s right, rub it in.” Jack fluttered his hands. “You’ve established, yet again, we’re wholly reliant on you. Now turn the damn thing on!”

  I opened the pantry door, got Mac’s little ceramic bowl and filled it with kibble. “Yeah, as if that’s gonna make me jump. A few pleases and thank yous would go a long way.”

  “Please,” Mel said. She spun on Jack. “I said it first! I get to watch Channel 5!”

  “What’s on Channel 5?” I bent to put the bowl on the floor. Mac magically materialized next my ankles and dove in.

  “A fashion show.” Mel whizzed to the television and stared at the blank screen with hands clasped at her breast as if praying to the god of fashion. “You’ll love it.”

  “I will?”

  She brought her hand up to her face and cupped her chin, looking me over. “In your case, it’ll be educational.”

  I plucked at my thick cable knit sweater. “I’d like to see you outside wearing one of those New York City outfits when temps drop below zero.”

  “I don’t remember what cold feels like, but I’m sure it was nasty. Anyway, they’re previewing next spring’s fashions.”

  Living with Jack and Mel taught me patience, but also puts pressure on me. I’m judge, jury and executioner all in one. And whatever I do, I’ll miff one of them. So, Cirque du Soleil or a catwalk show?

  I pulled a diet cola from my old pink refrigerator. The tab popped with a hiss. We already watched Cirque last week, but Mel had not seen a fashion show in a long time, and she did love them.

  Mac left his now spotless bowl and ambled to the backdoor. I opened it for him and stood there, looking at the fruit trees’ frosted branches, the scrub oaks’ tangled gray limbs with their dusting of snow, the thin white blanket covering the grass. Chickadees flitted from bird feeder to tree, each taking a single sunflower seed to crack on a branch, then back for another. Junco and towhee rooted for fallen seed beneath the feeder and rummaged noisily under the scrub oaks’ ghostly branches. Making tracks, Mac chugged to an apple tree and lifted his leg.

  Leaving the door cracked so Mac could push back in, I went to the small television, turned it on and clicked to Channel 5.

  Jack groaned, “You hate me.”

  I winked at him. “Aw, live a little, Jack.”

  Nose in the air, he sniffed. “You think you’re funny, don’t you.” He sighed as he lowered his rump to a kitchen chair, seeming to sit on it.

  Icy air seeped through the open backdoor. I shivered, and reconsidered my beverage of choice. Coffee or hot chocolate sounded good for a cold day such as this.

  Yeah, hot chocolate. Better yet, get into my nightshirt and snuggle under the duvet with a big mug of hot chocolate and a good book.

  I sighed. I had things to do. No daytime snuggling for me.

  I used the landline to call Gorge’s manager Perry Wick. No, Gorge was not there. Perry last saw him in August. If I wanted to talk to Gorge, he’d be back in January to do the annual tax reports and help with inventory. No, Perry didn’t have a way to contact Gorge. Was it urgent?

  “No. Just wondered how he’s doing. I’ll see him next month.” I rested the phone in the cradle, turned my spine to the counter and chewed on a hangnail.

  What did I have? Royal is God only knows where. Lawrence wants me to find Gorge, but gave me no clue to his whereabouts. Someone he calls the Burning Man is trying to kill Lawrence. Maybe the person Jack and Mel saw in my backyard? Lawrence didn’t want his Council to know he gave me that note. I think the kid’s scared.

  Something up with the new Council. The new informality of a formal people mired in tradition. That they changed their seating arrangement so they no longer face Lawrence smacks of disrespect.

  I hefted a mighty sigh and pushed away from the counter. I tried to erase anxiety for Royal from my mind. Obsessing helped neither me nor him when it didn’t get me anywhere. Maybe a solution would pop out of nowhere if I concentrated on something else. It has happened before. I opened the fridge, tried to decide what to eat for supper, but nothing in
there appealed.

  I poked in the pantry and came out with a packet of precooked rice and veggies. I had onion, garlic, eggs and spices. Fried rice sounded good. I tore the packet so steam could escape as it cooked, put it in the microwave and watched a skinny girl wearing a white paper bag contort along the catwalk as the rice heated.

  Mel had the tips of her fingers to her lips. “Oh, would you look at that,” she gushed.

  “Is that tulle?” Jack leaned over the table. “Chiffon?”

  My heavy skillet came from the cabinet and onto the stove. I sprayed it with oil. The burners on the old stove take a long time to heat so I chopped the onion while I waited. The microwave dinged.

  I had to get back in Bel-Athaer. I might have let the Council’s disinterest pass, if not for Lawrence. He didn’t want me to push them about Royal. Why? Was Royal involved in whatever made Lawrence fear for his life?

  The Burning Man?

  I fried the onion first, scooped it out and cracked two eggs in the pan. I stirred them briskly as they solidified. When they were set, I added the rice, onion and minced garlic, mixed it and listened to it sizzle.

  But where to start, where to go? I would be on my own. I had one clue. Cicero. I couldn’t hang around waiting for Gareth to contact me, if he ever did.

  A dash of red pepper and ginger. I added soy sauce and stirred it all together.

  Would the Council try to stop me? Could I help Lawrence?

  “Oh my god! Fried rice!” Jack exclaimed reverently. I hadn’t noticed him at my shoulder.

  I waved the spoon under his nose. “Want a taste?”

  He said a word beneath his breath and went back to the table. I’m not sure, but it may have rhymed with witch.

  Royal was a grown man and Lawrence a child. I should be using what resources were at my disposal to help Lawrence, but I didn’t have any. Without Royal, I didn’t know who to trust, if I could trust anyone.

  And I needed him here to eradicate the hollow ache of impending loss taking root in my belly.