by Ann Gimpel
The corners of her mouth turned downward. That had been when her father was still in residence, and it had been one of those days—the ones where he and Eleanora never left their bedroom. Her parents assigned spirits to watch over her, but sometimes the fairies had odd ideas about what was funny.
Exhaling sharply, she distanced herself from her childhood memories. Cassie pulled open the door at the top of the stairs and entered the attic. She brushed aside cobwebs as she hunted for the pull chain to illuminate the single room that stretched the length and breadth of the large house. Feeling her way forward, she chided herself for not bringing a flashlight.
Aha. Found it.
Blinking stupidly in the sudden raw glare from a hundred watt bulb, she spotted Eleanora crouched in a corner, hair falling about her like a mantle. One of her bats was perched on a shoulder, its wings folded against its dark body.
“Momma.” Cassie came close and squatted next to her mother. “Momma, please come back. I really need you... I-I think I’m in danger.”
Eleanora stared straight ahead, her eyes unfocussed, her jaw slack. The bat chattered angrily before winging toward the rafters far above.
“Come on.” Cassie tugged gently at her mother’s arm. “Let’s go downstairs. You know I don’t like it up here.” Something in that last statement, maybe her tone, maybe the words, seemed to reach Eleanora.
She straightened creakily and allowed Cassie to guide her toward the stairs. As usual, she was dressed all in black: long skirt, threadbare sweater, and woolen shawl. A silver Celtic cross hung from her neck. The stark piece of jewelry accentuated bones that practically stuck through her translucent skin.
Eleanora shook Cassie’s hand off her arm in the lighted hallway below. Moving quickly, her skirt in constant motion, she continued on down two more floors, turned into the library, and came to a halt next to Murietta’s perch. Hector joined them. Eyeing the tableau, Cassie thought ruefully that every creature in the house missed Eleanora beyond reckoning.
“Momma magic, awk,” the bird cooed. “Momma magic.”
Hector rubbed against Eleanora’s legs, purring like a mad thing. The closer he got, the more uncomfortable the bird looked, ruffling her feathers and squawking.
“Eleanora, what a nice surprise.” Jeremy, who’d managed to slip into the library without making a sound, insinuated his body between her and the parrot. He stretched out his arms and gave her a quick hug, kissing each cheek. “I’ve missed you.” He smiled at her, while placing a hand on either side of her ageless face.
For a moment she allowed the contact, but then she twisted away.
Watching closely, Cassie saw Jeremy nod as he drew his brows together. She wanted to ask if he’d been able to sense anything, but was afraid she’d disturb Eleanora, who rarely stayed in one place for very long. She looked at Jeremy, furling her brows into question marks, but he shook his head almost imperceptibly.
Even that subtle exchange seemed to trouble Eleanora. She turned and strode from the library with Hector right behind.
“Should I go after her?” Cassie looked at Jeremy.
“Wouldn’t do any good. Found her in the attic, didn’t you?”
“How’d you know?”
“It’s the farthest she can get from the filth Tyler’s spread through here.”
“You can feel it?” she asked, appalled.
“Awk, dirty man. Dirty man,” Murietta chimed in, as if she understood the gist of the conversation and wanted to be a part of things.
Jeremy smoothed feathers on the bird’s soft, gray head. “These old ones, they know,” he murmured. The bird pecked gently at his wrist. “After I finished my snack, I wandered some. Tyler stays on this floor in the north wing, huh?”
She nodded, thought about asking how he knew that, but then remembered she’d told him. Off on an internal tangent, she called up an image of her proper British father. Well, perhaps not so proper as all that. After all, he’d been thoroughly besotted with Eleanora.
Cassie was around seven when she realized both her parents were disappointed their only child was normal as a rain-washed counterpane. When Francis’ Atlantic hops first thinned out, then stopped entirely, she asked her mother if it was her fault.
Eleanora had gathered her close, enveloping her in the heady scent from the herbs she always carried in a leather pouch tied round her waist. “Ach, no, sweetling. That’s the problem with grand passions. They flare out as easily as they burned in the first place.”
“Cassie!” A stern note in Jeremy’s voice shocked her out of her musings. “We don’t have all that much time. I need you front and center, not buried in the past.” He grabbed hold of one of her wrists and pulled her toward an over-stuffed floral sofa.
“It will be tough to mask my presence from Tyler,” Jeremy explained. “He’s used to the feel of the house, and my power is hard to disguise. If I hide in your room, though, I just might be able to pull it off since he doesn’t spend any time in there. That way, when you remind him of his promise—and even he is bound by his word—I’ll be close enough to do some good.”
“My room’s locked.” She started to get up, but he shook his head.
“I can defeat any lock.”
She remembered finding him in Eleanora’s office. “Okay, then. One less thing to worry about.”
“What was that you called me earlier? A telepathic cat burglar?” He snorted and squeezed her hand.
Cassie cleared her throat. “What happens after I lure him into my room? Are you going to run him through while he’s on top of me?” She suppressed a fine edge of panic before it dissolved into hysteria. Clapping a hand over her mouth, she struggled to get hold of herself.
A corner of Jeremy’s mouth crooked upward. “Not exactly. I plan to use something a shade more subtle than a saber.”
“Are you sure we have to kill him? I mean, how the hell will we be able to explain away a dead body?”
“Won’t be a problem.”
She turned to him, laying a hand atop one of his. “You’re not thinking. How could a hundred and eighty pound man not be a problem? I suppose we could carry him out of here between the two of us...”
“Cassionetta.” He spoke low, his voice vibrating with suppressed emotion. “The difficulty will be trapping him. Demons don’t stick around once they’ve been exorcised. Neither do the fae. Remember, it’s him...or you and your mother.”
Chapter Seven
“I sort of asked you before, but why the sudden escalation?” Cassie trained her gaze on him.
Jeremy creased his high forehead in thought and brushed strands of hair out of his eyes. “I suspect Tyler’s finding it harder to keep all his balls in the air. There’s you, your mother, the ongoing sabotage of e-Ouija... Each of those things would drain his magic over time. If he’s aligned with the Irichna demons, they’ll be making demands on him too. He’s smart enough to deduce his life would be a lot simpler if you were out of the equation.”
“Makes sense. I sort of came up with the same explanation, other than the Irichna demon angle and the draining magic part that I don’t understand.”
“Does he ever drink anything?”
“Sure. He loves wine and brandy too, especially Calvados. Mom has a cellar full of the stuff, but I won’t let him touch it.”
“That’s perfect. It has a strong enough taste to mask almost anything. Run and get a bottle.”
“On my way.”
She glanced at the grandfather clock leaned against the wall as she strode from the library. It was closing on one in the morning. Tyler was bound to be back soon. Anxiety soured her stomach. Part of her wanted to shut herself in her room and forget Jeremy and his bloodthirsty plan. She trotted down the steps to the basement, her hard-soled slippers clattering on the risers. She pulled the chain to illuminate the perpetually damp subterranean space and realized she hadn’t brought the key to unlock the wine cellar. Her mother had never locked it, but Cassie installed the deadbolt to deter Tyle
r, once she discovered his bottomless taste for hundred dollar bottles of wine.
“Heh, let’s see if I need a key.” Her voice echoed off the basement walls and bounced back at her.
She rattled the knob, not surprised when it opened easily. Her anger heated when she glanced around the mostly empty wine cellar. Tyler had apparently helped himself to what he wanted. As far as he was concerned, the house—and everything in it—was already his. She stomped into the temperature and humidity-controlled room.
Thank God he left a few bottles of Calvados.
Snatching one, she raced up the stairs. Her misgivings about hurting Tyler dissipated like shards of glass shattering under every step she took.
“Here.” She thrust the bottle into Jeremy’s hands and watched while he cut the wax seal and dispatched the cork. He took a paper bindle out of a pocket and emptied white powder into the bottle. Replacing the stopper, he shook it gently.
“Do not drink any of this.” He handed her back the bottle. “Don’t even swish it around in your mouth.”
Her eyes widened; she understood perfectly. “Will it—?”
He shook his head. “No, but if Tyler takes even one swallow it’ll help me.”
Jeremy stiffened. His nostrils flared as if he were a hunting dog scenting the air. “Show time,” he murmured.
Cassie opened her mouth to beg for last minute reassurances, but he laid a hand over her lips. With a speed she wouldn’t have believed him capable of, he was up and sliding past the carved double doors leading to the downstairs hall.
Moments later, Tyler’s sneering voice rumbled down the hallway calling her name. All too soon, his chiseled features were framed in the library doorway. “I figured you’d still be up,” he smirked. “Waiting to collect your reward, you little harlot?”
Murietta cawed angrily, flapping her wings.
“How about if you come out here?” he suggested silkily. “That bird never has warmed to me.”
“Guess she has better sense than I did,” Cassie muttered. She pushed up from her soft seat and walked slowly toward the hall with the Calvados in hand. Sour alcohol fumes buffeted her ten paces from Tyler.
Sheesh. Wonder how much he had to drink tonight.
“Very funny.” He twisted his head from side to side, making his long hair swish around his face. “I can still sense that piece of shit you carted home with you, but I suppose it’s because he hasn’t been gone long.”
She offered what she hoped would pass for a smile. “His cab just left a few minutes ago. Look.” She flashed the bottle at him. “I remembered you like this, so I got you some from the basement.”
He looked at her strangely, almost as if he was waiting for accusations about the broken lock on the door—and thousands of dollars of missing spirits—but she smiled sweetly and held out the bottle.
He grabbed it and then grasped her arm roughly with his other hand. “Let’s get this over with so I can get some sleep.” He tugged the cork out of the Calvados bottle with his teeth, spat it onto the hardwood, and upended the bottle, drinking greedily.
“You smell like you’ve been rolling in a vat of semen.” She wrinkled her nose. “Why don’t you take a bath first? Or,” she forced herself to smile brightly, “maybe we could take one together in that nice, deep, claw-foot tub of mine.”
“What have you been doing? Reading romance novels? Look, wench, if you want to get laid, let’s get this show on the road. As I recall,” he added nastily, his words slurring, “you never used to mind a few of the more manly smells.”
Reacting to a sudden intuition, she cleared her mind of thought. Even drunk, Tyler’s magic was powerful enough to enable him to read her mind. “Right you are,” she said cheerily and mounted the stairs. A sudden flash of lightning illuminated the stairwell through the floor-to-ceiling window set into the landing.
When she looked at Tyler, he was sucking down Calvados and swaying on his feet. She wondered how she could ever have been taken in by him. He’d obviously used a glamour, and it was slipping badly. Deep lines etched into his face, his jowls sagged, and he was going bald on top. Whatever he’d done tonight had seriously depleted him. Plus, he was already well on the way to being smashed—even without the brandy and whatever it was spiked with.
Jeremy was probably right about Tyler’s magic being strained to the breaking point—and about him champing at the bit to inveigle his way into Eleanora’s wealth. A crash of thunder rocked both the house and her confidence in her ability to carry off a seduction charade. A frisson of fear chattered down her spine, leaving icy fingers in its wake. If Tyler really was a demon—
She hurried up the remaining stairs. Unlocking her door, she surreptitiously disengaged the voice-activated electronics and gestured him inside.
“Well, well, well.” He glanced at the unmade bed and clothes strewn about. “Still quite the little pig, aren’t we?” He took another swig from the bottle and then held it out to her.
Throat tight with fear, she shook her head. “Nah. I never drank much. Gave it up entirely a few months back. I think it makes my migraines worse.”
He shrugged. “You’re missing out. Guess it just means more for me.” He tilted the bottle to his mouth again.
Gritting her teeth, she tried for one last stab at rationality. Maybe she could manage to get him out of the house without resorting to murder. If whatever Jeremy put in the Calvados made Tyler even marginally more reasonable...
“Look, there’s no crime in not being able to get along. Let’s just admit we made a mistake. You move your things out, and we’ll both get on with our lives. You have all Mother’s clients, so you’re doing pretty well. It’s obvious you despise me. I’m none too fond of you, either. So.” She spread her hands in front of her. “What do you say?”
“I’m not going anywhere.” He staggered, set down the bottle, and pulled off his richly embroidered tunic. “If you want a roll in the hay, get over here. If not, I’m going to my own bed. Your choice.”
Choking back an almost overwhelming desire to spit in his face, she reached out a hand. “Here, let me help you with that coat.”
Another fork of blue-white lightning illuminated the sky outside her bedroom windows. Rain sounded like shrapnel, sharp against the glass panes. From the vicinity of the hallway, Hector growled menacingly. Clearly torn between his fear of storms and his hatred for Tyler, the cat scratched at the floor. His claws made long, squealing sounds as they scoured the wood.
Oblivious to the pandemonium, Tyler favored her with a toothy grin. He set the bottle down and threw the tunic her way, before kicking off his shoes. Next came the wide-bottomed gypsy pants, followed by a yellowed pair of boxers. The sated-man stench became more intense by the second. Despite the fact he’d obviously been fucking someone—or maybe multiple someones—just a short while ago, he reached tapering fingers toward his dick and stroked it to fullness. Once it was banging against his stomach, Tyler looked over at her, clucking in irritation.
“Take your damned clothes off,” he panted. “Else I’ll be done before you’ve even started.”
She considered a catty comment about his lack of staying power, but bit it back. He’d never lasted long, but made up for it by being able to get hard again and again. Apprehension swirled through her. She squelched it down. Fear would give her away.
She tossed herself on the bed and tried to smile. “Won’t take me but a second to get these sweats off. If you hand me a condom, I’ll put it on you. She pushed her stretchy bottoms off, but kept her panties in place.”
“I like it better without.”
“I gave you the Calvados. Please?” She held out a hand.
“Oh, very well. I don’t particularly want any brats running around here, either. Just got to find my pants.” He scanned the floor, turning to determine where he’d dropped his trousers. Unsteady from the alcohol—and whatever Jeremy had spiked it with—he tripped over one of her discarded high heeled boots and crumpled to the floor. Moaning
incoherently, he flipped onto his back.
Tyler opened one eye, but seemed to have trouble focusing on her. “Bitch,” he managed. “Wine. You—” The hand nearest her scrabbled against the rug, straining for purchase in its thick nap.
Terror filled Cassie. She shrank to the far side of her bed and got to her feet, putting as much floor space between them as she could. He was probably too drugged to hurt her, but... What would happen if he weren’t?
Where was Jeremy?
“Ha! I had no idea he was such a lush.” Jeremy materialized from behind one of the heavy curtains and extended his hands. Blue-white energy sparked from him. A short-bladed, bright orange dagger hovered in the air.
Tyler’s body writhed in agony, and he drummed his heels on the floor. Face drawn into a rictus, he clawed at his throat. “Y-you can’t kill me,” he gasped. “If you do, Eleanora dies too. We’re linked.”
“You’re lying,” Jeremy growled.
Murietta swooped into the room, latched her talons into Tyler’s flesh, and buried her beak in one of his eyes before he could react.
A high, thin howl of pain filled the air. Blood spurted from his ruined eye, soaking the side of his head.
“T-truth,” Tyler wheezed when he was done squealing. He scraped ineffectually at his obviously narrowed airway and batted at the parrot poised to obliterate his other eye. She fluttered just out of reach. He eyed the glowing knife. “Seraph blade?”
Jeremy nodded. “Just for you.” As if it had been summoned, the dagger moved closer to Tyler. Its orange hue shaded to golden, and it pulsated ominously.
Jeremy glanced at Cassie. “Go get your mother. I need her here to figure out if this poor excuse for a shaman is telling the truth.”
Cassie dove from the room, her feet skimming the floor as she ran for the stairs to the attic. Another flash of lightning lit her way. Her panting breath was loud against the silence of the house.
“Mom, where the hell are you?” she screamed. “There’s no time. Mom! Goddammit, answer me.”